


Play Dates and Park Benches

by lalakate



Series: Play Dates and Park Benches [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, F/M, Family, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-08 03:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 95,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13449657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalakate/pseuds/lalakate
Summary: Two single parents meet through their daughter's friendship and embark on one wild ride of a relationship. Modern AU.





	1. Chapter 1

He watched her from the corner of his eye, standing apart from the other parents, lost in her own private reverie. Back straight, face placid, this quiet creature who had drawn his attention kept her eyes fixed on her child, avoiding contact with the surrounding adults as she did on a daily basis. He of all people understood the need to protect oneself in such a manner.

Had he not often done the same thing himself?

He had noticed her on several occasions since the beginning of the school year. How could he not? She was physically stunning, the first woman to capture his attention since his life had shattered with the receipt of one phone call. Yet the nerve to introduce himself remained just outside of his grasp, his tongue always too thick or his throat too dry for common speech. So he chose to admire her from afar rather than bridging this invisible gap he had crafted around himself.

Of course, the desire to meet a woman had been non-existent for nearly two years now, and he swallowed forcefully, wondering just what to do with the new stirrings of life that were taking him by surprise.

Had she just glanced in his direction? Surely that was his imagination playing tricks on him. Or was it?

Two small figures nearly collided with him, bobbing ginger curls and ebony plaits making him smile brightly as his daughter tugged on the edge of his jacket.

"And just what are you two monkeys up to?" he queried, kneeling down to their level.

"We're off to the swings, Daddy. Will you push us?"

Blue eyes he could never refuse sparkled up at him, two sets of cheeks pink from the crisp fall air presenting him with bait more alluring than he could ever refuse.

"Alright, sweetheart," he answered. "Lead the way."

His daughter squealed and giggled, her companion eyeing him quietly, her excitement beaming through the soft smile that had broken across her face.

She looked just like her mother. Her mother—who was watching him now.

The swings sufficed for a few minutes before the allure of the slide pulled the girls away, leaving him standing in solitude. His hands returned to his pockets, his gaze back to the woman his daughter's friend so resembled. She had taken the seat next to where he had been standing beside the bench. The corner of his mouth drew up in response.

Leaves shuffled beneath his feet as he made his way to her, taking in just how perfectly her black hair skimmed her jawline, framing her chin in a style both simple and flattering. She was so different than Lavinia, a fact he suddenly appreciated. Dark eyes smiled up at him, her gaze dropping as he took the spot next to her.

"So you're Anna's mother?" he began, watching her expression lighten at the mention of her daughter's name. "I'm Matthew—Matthew Crawley. Belle's father."

"Mary Gillingham," she returned, accepting his extended hand as they became formally acquainted. "Anna speaks of Belle frequently. It would seem they have become the best of friends."

"I think Kindergarten must promote the formation of fast friendships," he grinned, appreciating the small sound she made in response.

"I daresay you're right," she returned, her expression losing a bit of its luster. "Although I do think another commonality is what brought them together."

His heart stung smartly.

"How did it happen?"

Her exhale filled the space between them, her eyes fixing themselves on her hands.

"Road-side bomb. Afghanistan. Eighteen months ago." His eyes closed in empathy. "And you?"

He met her gaze directly, images of his wife dancing across his mind like stills from a silent movie.

"Car wreck. Drunk driver. Two years ago next month."

A knowing silence was followed by a sincere acknowledgement.

"I'm very sorry." He sighed.

"So am I."

Gazes shifted to the light-hearted forms of their children, running and laughing as if tragedy's hand had passed over their lives rather than altering them irrevocably.

"Belle was actually excited that she had made a friend whose parent had died," he mused, shaking his head ruefully. "She told me it was nice to have somebody like her in her class."

"It's funny how children see things, isn't it?" she offered, tilting her head slightly in his direction. "Anna basically said the same thing. She frequently tells me that Belle understands her." A breeze toyed with her dark locks as her hands clutched themselves together tightly. "It helps to have someone understand, doesn't it?"

Eyes that knew watched her carefully,

"Yes. I suppose it does."

The girls moved from the slide to the teeter-totters, waving to their parents as they scampered past.

"So, are you helping with the Fall Festival?" he inquired, laughing as Belle's side of the see-saw shot up quickly.

"Yes," she replied. "It seems as though Ms. Laura has signed me up to work the ring toss stand." His brows drew together.

"That's funny. She scheduled me to work at the same booth."

He glanced quickly at the teacher, noting how she quickly moved her eyes from them when she noticed he was watching.

"Well," she stated. "What a coincidence."

He chuckled softly. "A happy coincidence, I hope."

She observed the slight reddening of his ears, doubting their shade was completely due to the autumn weather. It rather endeared him to her, and she felt a slight flutter in her chest.

"I think we'll manage fairly well. Don't you?"

His smile warmed a region left cold for too long. "Yes. I'm sure that we will."

She stood then, beckoning her daughter as the time to leave drew nigh.

"Until tomorrow then," he spoke, feeling something nice when she gave him a genuine smile.

"Tomorrow," she offered softly, her cheeks warming despite the cool air. He watched the pair of them walk away hand in hand, looking forward to the Fall Festival with fervor he never expected.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Matthew prepare to work at the Ring Toss Booth together, both experiencing doubts, nerves and excitement about the other.

He checked himself in the mirror yet again, cursing that blasted strand of hair that flopped into his face no matter how much gel he applied. Collar straight, shirt tucked, a nice crease down the front legs of his trousers. And all of this effort for nothing more than an evening of manning The Ring Toss Booth at the School Fall Festival.

He shook his head at the bevy of nerves attacking his stomach. Of course, this extra attention to detail would have nothing to do with a certain woman would be his companion throughout the evening, a certain gorgeous brunette with whom he had shared a park bench and bits of trivial conversation over the past three days. Just envisioning her made him grin in spite of himself, and he felt like a schoolboy fawning over his first crush.

He now knew she loved sushi, hated alarm clocks, and preferred red wine to white. Her favorite actor was Jimmy Stewart, she thought hockey was a waste of time and energy, and swore she would never tire of hearing Ella Fitzgerald sing.

He didn't tell her that he downloaded Ella's greatest hits within hours of that discovery.

"Are you ready, Muffin?" he called out, moving into the living room after applying his new cologne. He still couldn't bring himself to wear Lavinia's favorite, the bottle she had given him their last Christmas together sitting untouched for two years now. He supposed he should use it or throw it out, but a part of him clung to it, his senses needing a reminder of a life cast into memory.

What mementos had Mary kept of her late husband, he wondered?

He knew she still wore her wedding and engagement rings, had taken note of their elegant simplicity which suited her so well. Of course, his band still rested on his finger, and he stared at it in silence, wondering just when he would have the nerve to take it off.

How odd. He had never really considered that question before this evening.

"You look handsome, Daddy."

The assertion made him smile, breaking into his meandering thoughts as he knelt down to the one who had offered it, twirling a wavy lock around his finger.

"And you look like you're ready for an evening of fun," he replied, smiling back at her freckled grin.

"So do you," she giggled, the glimmer in her eye so reminiscent of her mother. "When is Grandmother coming?"

"At any moment," he returned, looking at the clock and praying that his mother's punctuality would hold fast. He did not want to be late for his shift. Not tonight, anyway.

"I didn't know grandmothers liked Fall Festivals," Belle mused, her face scrunching in serious thought to such a weighty matter.

"Grandmothers like all sorts of things," he affirmed, tugging at her chin until she grinned again. "They are always full of surprises."

He was quite thankful that his mother was game for an evening of elementary mayhem, even more so as she had volunteered to watch out not only for Belle but also for her granddaughter's best friend, whose mother just so happened to be scheduled to work at the same booth as he,. If Isobel Crawley held any suspicions as to her son's interest in his booth-mate, she had kept them to herself, nodding her head in sympathy at the fact that Mary Gillingham had no family in the area to help keep an eye on Anna while she did her part as a parent. He was glad of it. At this point, he preferred not to discuss something so new and uncertain with anyone, especially his mother.

She had hinted more than once that it would be good for him to rejoin the world of the living, and he was not yet ready to add any kindling to her brush fire of concerned interest. If she knew that he had met someone…he sighed at the mere notion.

Very few women had ever captured his interest, having met Lavinia his freshman year of college. A fast friendship had been formed, one from which eventually had blossomed a love both tender and safe. There had been few surprises thrown at them as life progressed, marriage, careers, houses and eventually a baby all occurring as planned. Matthew liked predictability, treasuring the security that could be found in living a life uninterrupted and well-structured.

But two years ago, predictability had punched him in the gut. And he had retreated into the walls of his office and home, allowing only his daughter and mother access to his inner-workings, licking deep wounds in private solitude. Such confines had brought comfort, the need to venture out into a world suddenly overwhelming virtually non-existent. Until she had crashed into his consciousness and made him take notice, that is.

Mary Gillingham—the disruptor of his peace.

A knock on the door drew their attention. Belle dashed towards the summons, greeting her grandmother at the entrance and taking the older woman's hand with the eagerness of a five year old.

"Hello, mother," Matthew stated, moving forward to kiss her cheek. "Don't you look lovely this evening?"

Isobel studied her son's appearance with eyes that missed nothing, breathing in a scent quite unfamiliar as she drew back from him.

"You look rather dashing yourself, I must say," she returned, keeping her face steady and voice even. "Quite handsome for an evening of tossing rings about."

"Oh, you know," he answered off-handedly. "Putting one's best foot forward for a good cause."

"Of course, dear," she replied with a smile, her interest in meeting Anna Gillingham's mother increasing by the second. "Is everything all set?"

"Yes," he explained. "Mary and Anna will meet us at the school gymnasium entrance at 6:00 pm sharp. We need to get a move on if we're not going to be late."

"Well," Isobel stated with a smile, "We wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Had he just imagined the flicker of intrigue in her eyes, the slight twitch of her brow that had always served to alert him when she was noticing too much? Perhaps tonight had already become more complicated than he had anticipated.

What in God's name was he thinking?

If he had any sense, he would back away from this ridiculous infatuation before unruly emotions ran away with him. But at the moment, he wasn't feeling particularly sensible. How very unlike him. He grinned slightly in spite of himself.

Mary Gillingham struck him as a complicated woman, the type he had always avoided—the type he was certain would find him lacking. Yet here he stood, palms damp, throat dry, anxious to get to the very woman who quite likely rarely gave him a second thought. Why would she—a creature so magnificent? A lady so polished and refined? Especially when he was nothing special, just an attorney with a sedan and a mortgage who could stand to lose five pounds?

"Can we go now, daddy?" His daughter's inquiry drew him back to his surroundings, and he took her hand in his, touching her nose gently.

"Of course," Matthew added, avoiding his mother's overtly curious gaze, "Being tardy is the last thing we would want, especially at a school function. Now then-let's get going."

* * *

 

Of all nights for her hair to be difficult.

The straightening iron seemed to be having little effect upon the one stubborn strand as she fought to coerce it to lay in the right direction. A grunt of frustration escaped her as dark locks continued their mockery, pushing her to throw the blasted contraption down on the sink in defeat. How she wanted to look perfect tonight, was hoping to make a bit of an impression on a man who had taken her by surprise. A certain blue-eyed man who had awakened flutterings she had feared forever dormant. A man whose easy smile and disarming personality prompted her to actually stop for a manicure this afternoon, an indulgence she had not allowed herself since notice of Tony's death had arrived upon her doorstep.

Tony.

A sigh borne of weariness and guilt heaved from her lungs yet again, and she shut her eyes in an attempt to block the onslaught of blame that inevitably accompanied thoughts of her deceased husband. He had been a good man, a kind man, a man who had convinced her to marry him in the aftermath of bone crushing loss. And a man she had never loved as a wife should love her husband.

What would Matthew Crawley think of her if he knew such details? Of her callousness towards a husband who had given so much? Her stomach hollowed at the very thought, and she envisioned his brow creasing in disappointment.

How difficult such detachment towards a spouse would be to conceive for a man had obviously adored his wife, cradling her memory in a tender reverence that shone through in marked clarity whenever he but spoke her name. She had been a lucky woman, this Lavinia Crawley, at least during the time that had been afforded to her. If she had only been a better wife to Tony…the wife he had deserved rather than the wife he had received.

Just what type of woman was she?

She shook her head, attempting to scatter regrets that were piling up quickly. She picked up the straightening iron in one final attempt to improve her appearance, knowing that nothing she accomplished cosmetically would erase the marks of censure etched harshly across her soul. Lashes applied by her own hand still stung, daunting reminders of the many shortcomings that continually plagued her.

Was she actually capable of loving again? Did she even want to take that risk?

Perhaps this entire evening was nothing more than an elaborate set-up for failure. After all, she had never been one of the lucky ones when it came to matters of the heart. It might be best to keep lofty expectations from getting carried away, to retreat back into formality and function rather than stepping into the unknown, no matter how enticing it might be.

Believing in the impossible had nearly destroyed her once. She still bore scars that stung.

Yet an existence of smoke and mirrors, of forced smiles and fake interest had left her cold these past many months. And her daughter deserved a better mother than one always putting on an act. Her daughter…her Anna. The one thing in this life she had done right. The only light in a life of gray hues and sullen skies. Yet at times, even the child's innocent presence brought pain, the gleam in her eye or crook of her grin a weighty reminder of a father cruelly taken.

Anna's father, now forever lost to her, yet ever-present in shadow and memory. Anna's father, the man from whom she feared she would never be free, no matter how many seasons passed nor years that crawled by. The truth was, she wasn't certain she ever wanted to be free of him, even as she stood in front of the mirror preparing for a date with a man who hadn't even asked her out.

Just how pathetic did that make her?

She peeked down the hallway, finding her daughter sitting quietly by the television brushing her favorite doll's hair, waiting patiently for her mother to finish getting ready. Her heart pinched painfully as she toyed with the rings she still wore as a penance, a symbol of Tony's goodness, and a cold reminder of her failings.

Exactly whom did she think she could fool?

She studied herself closely in the mirror, eyes appropriately lined, lips just the right shade… How ridiculous she felt. Here she stood, a grown woman, an undeserving widow at that, fretting over every detail of her appearance for a man with whom she had spoken on a handful of occasions--a man far better than she could ever hope to be. They had chatted about trivial matters, had laughed over commonalities as single parents, and had even tossed about food preferences. But it wasn't as if he had asked her out on a date, and not as if she had accepted. This evening was dedicated to working at her daughter's school, manning a booth to boost a fund-raising campaign for updated playground equipment. This night was not about her, not about him, not about…

Them?

She shook her head at her own sensibilities. Relationships were simply not destined to work out well for her. Would her stubbornness never allow her to accept this fact? Why should she allow herself to hope when clearly she had no reason to do so? Besides—blue eyes had never attracted her. Fair hair had never held her fascination. And Matthew Crawley had loved deeply, only confirming her suspicions that she would eventually do nothing but disappoint him when he uncovered details hidden by design.

How could she compete with a wife so treasured? She—who was so fractured in all the wrong places? Yet somehow, regardless of the silent speeches she recited to herself, tonight mattered. She wasn't certain why, and stood in fearful hesitance to explore the reasons. It was just there, a feeling, an instinct, the hope that something good might finally happen after years of just getting by.

"Please, God," she whispered, berating herself instantly for even entertaining the notion that God would hold any interest in helping her. After all, she knew better. Didn't she? ________________________________________


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew and Mary get to know each other better at the Fall Festival.

Traffic was moving at an excruciating crawl.

Of course it would happen tonight, Matthew mused, blowing out a breath of frustration. He would be late for his appointed meeting time with Mary and Anna—he, a man who prided himself on punctuality. The fact that they had departed fifteen minutes earlier than necessary to ensure a prompt arrival now meant nothing as a nearby concert was attracting more people than he had realized resided in the entire city.

A restless hand ran through his hair, and he bit back words inappropriate for his daughter's young ears.

"Calm down, Matthew," his mother offered, attempting to assuage his obviously frayed nerves. "We'll be there shortly."

"I know, mother," he returned, staring at the vehicles in front of him with an intensity he hoped would force them to accelerate. "But we'll be late. There is no way around that now."

"By no more than five minutes, dear," Isobel soothed, finally eyeing the school building in the distance. "I'm certain our companions will not begrudge us such a minimal wait."

Their companions—a woman who had sneaked into forbidden corners of his mind without the smallest show protest on his part, and her daughter, so like his own in situation but vastly different in personality. He shook his head, afraid of uttering more lest he give away his true interest in Mary Gillingham. He feared he already may have done so.

"I would hate to think of them standing outside in the cold," he stated, feeling the first measures of relief as he finally pulled into the parking lot. "Simply because of the fact that we are running behind."

Isobel was unable to contain the slight grin that tugged on the corners of her mouth, careful to keep her eyes focused squarely ahead.

"There is a slight nip in the air this evening," she began. "But I am quite certain that neither Mary nor her daughter will even come close to freezing in this October weather. Belle isn't wearing her heavy coat, and you're in a jacket."

There were times when he despised his mother's practicality.

"Even so, it's impolite to keep them waiting," he retorted, forced back into silence as he realized he had nothing more to say. Staring straight ahead and keeping his mouth shut seemed to be the only options left to him, and he shook his head yet again at feelings that were quickly becoming unruly. This infatuation with Mary Gillingham could spiral out of hand all too easily.

And spiraling into a woman was a sensation unknown to him.

He parked the car with as much efficiency as he could muster, sliding out with an undue haste to open the doors for both his mother and daughter.

"Slow down, daddy," Belle pleaded, panting as she attempted to keep up with his long stride. He looked down, feeling terrible as he noted short legs practically sprinting to match his pace.

"Here, dear," Isobel jumped in. "Why don't you walk with me. That way your father can reach Anna and her mother a bit quicker and let them know we are here."

He shot his mother a look of gratitude and surrender, realizing she had already perceived the source of his anxiousness. Why had he even bothered trying to conceal such things from the likes of Isobel Crawley? Sometimes it was a bit like having Miss Marple for a mother.

* * *

 

When was the last time she'd been early for anything?

Mary checked her watch yet again, certain she had the time right, wondering if he had been caught up in the traffic that seemed to plaguing several of the parents en route to tonight's festivities. She had feared running late herself as punctuality was not necessarily one of her strong suits, yet she lived close enough to the school that her travel time had not been very much extended by the heavier than expected flow.

She was certain Matthew would not stand her up on purpose.

"When do you think they will get here, Mommy?"

She looked down at her daughter, the quirk of her small brow mirroring her own.

"Any time now, darling. They're only a few minutes late."

The girl nodded her head, her face scrunching as a matter of weight settled upon her.

"Do you think Belle's grandmother will let us have cotton candy?"

Mary knelt until she was eye-level with her daughter, nearly nose to nose as was their favored stance.

"If she doesn't, I'll buy you some before we leave. Do we have a deal?"

Anna twisted back and forth, shooting her mother a sideways smile that never failed to remind her of the girl's father.

"Yes. We have a deal."

Fingers couldn't help themselves, winding themselves into curls Anna insisted on having tonight, refusing to listen to her mother's reasoning that they would fall flat before the evening was over. Her hair was so like his—the same thick texture, the same ruddy brown color, the same stubborn cow-lick just beyond her part. The same damned refusal to conform to guidance without a fight. Her heart winced slightly in spite of herself.

She shook it off, determined to enjoy this evening she had been anticipating for days.

"Of course, you must promise to share," Mary instructed, grinning at the girl's stance of protest. "You know how I love cotton candy."

"Why can't you buy your own?" Anna questioned, appalled at the very idea that she could lose a decent portion of her treat to her mother, the one person whose sweet-tooth rivaled her own.

"Buy your own what?"

His voice caught her off-guard, and she stood quickly, attempting to smooth her slacks as she shot him a nervous smile.

"Cotton candy," Mary replied, a bit overwhelmed by her nervous reaction to him. "Anna is not thrilled with the idea of having to share hers with me."

She attempted to steady knees responding too quickly. God, he looked handsome.

"I don't blame her," Matthew asserted, stepping in just close enough, unable to stop staring at this woman who made his breath catch. "Every girl should be allowed to have her own cotton candy."

The slight tilt of his head made her pulse skip a beat.

"Be careful of what you say," Mary returned, eyeing him from under her lids. "Anna and I can be quite the gluttons when it comes to sweets."

His mouth quirked upwards into that grin that did things to her, and she noted how he sometimes bit his bottom lip when he was considering an appropriate response.

"I suppose we must all have our areas of indulgence," he affirmed, shifting his stance slightly, wishing he could indulge himself with a fluff of her hair. Where had that thought come from?

"And just what is yours, Matthew Crawley?' she tossed back, dark eyes sparkling in spite of themselves. "Your area of indulgence, that is?"

His mouth dried before he could formulate a thought, the images emerging in his mind much too private in nature to be verbalized in front of her daughter.

"Hello. You must be Mary."

He had never been more grateful for his mother's interruption, silently praying the flush crawling up his neck wouldn't give away the intimate nature of his musings.

"Yes," Mary returned, giving Isobel her full attention, offering as natural a smile as she could muster. "And you must be Mrs. Crawley."

"Please, call me Isobel," the older woman instructed, taking Mary's hand in her own for a brief squeeze. She then looked down to the girl beside her, half hiding behind her mother's leg. "And you must be Anna."

Dark curls bobbed in consent, a true smile emerging as Belle stepped forward and grabbed her companion's hand.

"Come on," the red-head insisted excitedly. "There's supposed to be a dunking booth and everything."

Anna's eyes widened in tandem with her mother's at the mention of such enticements, her grin releasing a dimple on one side of her face.

"It sounds like fun," Mary coaxed gently, watching her daughter emerge into the care of Belle's grandmother.

"So your shift lasts an hour?" Isobel questioned, receiving a quick nod in affirmation from her son. "Very good. We shall meet you at your booth at 7:30 sharp. Are you ready girls?"

Mary gave her daughter's shoulder an affectionate squeeze, making sure she was ready to break contact and strike out on her own with Belle's grandmother. She apparently was.

"We're ready," Belle answered for both of them, Anna nodding quietly in agreement. Isobel then took the hands of both her charges, leading them forward as they skipped alongside her.

"Don't forget the cotton candy," Matthew called out after them, earning himself a look over her shoulder from his mother and smiles of elation from both girls.

He was now alone with Mary Gillingham. The fact both thrilled and terrified him.

"You never confessed, you know," Mary stated as they turned to follow a certain trio into the building, pressing her lips together.

"To what?" he inquired, wondering just what perfume she was wearing. It bore the ability to drive him mad before the evening was over.

"To your weakness," she replied, tossing him a sideways grin. "Your favorite indulgence, remember?"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, doubting he would get off the hook quite so easily a second time.

"Well, if you must know, I'm rather addicted to playing ring toss," he stated, catching the bemused expression she shot him. "I can't get enough of it, actually. You'll probably have to confine me to a corner in order to keep me from stealing turns from our patrons tonight."

"I'm glad you warned me," she teased, making him smile all the more. "Do you think I'll need tie you to a chair to keep you in line?"

He nearly choked on his own saliva.

"No. I don't think that will be necessary," he managed, unable to make eye contact with her as images he did not need caught up with him with lightning speed. "Not yet, anyway."

He heard her breath catch slightly, and turned to see her eyes widen as she just realized what she had implied.

"That's a relief," she whispered back, the blush splashing across her cheeks making her all the more attractive. "What would your mother think?"

He chuckled in spite of himself, rubbing a hand across the back of a neck feeling unusually warm.

"She's probably seen worse, to be honest," he returned, adoring the grin taking over her lips. "After all, she is a nurse."

"Then me tying you up might seem fairly mild to her," Mary mused, trying to convince her cheeks to cool off a few degrees. 

"With my mother, you never know," Matthew replied. "She just might encourage us."

Butterflies flitted across her rib cage.

"How very progressive," she quipped, enjoying herself more than she had in years. "But don't you think that the other parents might object?"

"Who knows? We might become the most popular booth of the evening," he grinned, watching her eyes flash appreciatively as he marveled at his own daring.

"We'd certainly attract our fair share of attention," she smirked as they reached their destination.

"I'm certain we would," he agreed, shaking his head at this turn in conversation. "But we might get kicked out for bad behavior."

"Tossed out of the Fall Festival," she mused, setting up the ticket box. "I'd never be able to show my face on the playground again."

"Now that would be a tragedy," he stated, the words out of his mouth before he could filter them. She turned to stare at him directly, astonished at how such light-heated banter could suddenly pull on strings she feared had become rusty. The air had charged between them, both now completely oblivious to the fact that they stood in a gymnasium full of people.

It was almost too much.

"Yes, it would be a tragedy," she replied, her face still too warm for her own comfort. " I'd miss our conversations."

"So would I," he replied, wondering why his collar felt so tight.

"You would?"

Her question caught him off guard, the absolute astonishment on her face making him wonder how in hell a woman like her could have any doubts that he would find her irresistible. But she looked every bit as vulnerable as he felt, so he just stared at her and gave her the best smile he could, certain he must resemble Dopey trying to impress Snow White.

"Yes. I would." 

The words pushed through the tightened confines of his throat, and he had to look away, knowing temptation would get the better of him if he continued to gaze into eyes that unsettled him.

God, he wanted to kiss her. Now. Tonight. When he'd only been speaking with her for a week. The urge was nearly overpowering and more than a little primal. 

"I guess we had better behave ourselves then," Mary offered,  finding herself standing close enough to smell his cologne. The scent was beginning to make her feel slightly off-balance and cautiously aroused.

God, she wanted to kiss him.

"At least until our shift is over," he returned, the urge to touch her cheek warring with every strand of reason he had still functioning.

"And then what?" she dared, unable to stop this mad frolic that had descended upon them out of nowhere.

"Then let the games begin," he teased, enjoying her blush, wondering if a turn in the dunking booth would be a necessity to cool himself off before this night was over.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Matthew's first date gets off to an interesting start.

Damn!

The alarm made him jump, and he swore again under his breath, backing away as something vile sputtered in the skillet. He turned on the fan, waving a dishtowel manically in a useless attempt to salvage what was supposed to be Chicken Masala. The blackened remnants better resembled mutilated charcoal than they did an elegant home-cooked dinner. What in God's name had he been thinking?

This was a disaster. Nothing short of a total disaster.

The smoke alarm blared on, and he smacked it with a wooden spoon, beating it into submission until he cracked the outer surface. He laughed, biting his bottom lip as he breathed a prayer of thanks that Belle was not here witnessing him making an utter ass of himself. Lavinia had always managed to keep things calm around the house, her presence alone a leveling factor. But since she had been gone, his ability to remain at an even keel internally had continually been ebbing away.

And then he had met Mary Gillingham.

God—nothing about their relationship made any sense. She was so very different than his wife had been, so indescribably gorgeous, so infuriatingly mysterious, so…so…

So out of his league.

But they had enjoyed each other's company immensely at the Fall Festival last weekend, and he decided then and there to impress her, to show her a side of himself that perhaps she might truly admire. She had openly confessed to him that her late husband hadn't been able to boil water, and he had seen opportunity blazing a trail at his feet. He was more than a decent cook, and actually prided himself in his abilities in the kitchen. So he had painstakingly crafted a menu designed to please a sophisticated palate, spoken directly with the manager of his favorite wine shop to choose just the perfect red, and had arranged with his mother for the girls to have a sleep-over at her house.

Yet here he stood, his new shirt now hopelessly splattered with grey goo after putting out the beginnings of a grease fire.

Great. Just great. Could anything else possibly go wrong tonight?

Just then the doorbell sounded. 6:00 p.m.? Hadn't they settled on 6:30?

He made his way to the door, an apology on his lips that got stuck half-way up his throat.

It wasn't Mary. Thank God.

"Belle?" he questioned, his astonishment clear. "What are you doing back here?"

"We left her suitcase," Isobel answered quickly, following her granddaughter through the door. "We didn't realize it until we had nearly reached my house. So we turned ourselves around immediately and drove back to fetch it."

"Oh," Matthew stated, as he moved away from the entrance. "Well, I'm glad you realized it now rather than later."

"And don't worry," Isobel added, giving him a knowing smile. "I've already texted Mary to let her know what happened. She won't be dropping Anna off until Belle and I get back."

"Thank you, mother," he sighed. "It's so good of you to have both girls over for the evening."

"They're actually less trouble when they're together," Mrs. Crawley mused, smiling down at her granddaughter. "They keep each other well-entertained."

"I can imagine," he replied, hurrying back to the kitchen as a lid began to clatter, the unmistakable sound of something boiling over making him feel sick to his stomach.

His daughter scrunched her nose as she watched him scurry around like a frantic hamster.

"What's that smell, Daddy?"

He shrugged, fanning the smoke still wafting from the skillet.

"I had a little trouble with the sauce," he confessed. "Among other things."

"Is that what you're cooking for Anna's mommy?" she questioned, her blue eyes widening as she stepped into the kitchen.

"Well, yes," he admitted sheepishly, staring hopelessly at the unpalatable mess before him.

"I don't think she's going to like it very much."

She rubbed her eyes and coughed in protest, retreating down the hallway to escape the smoke and steam. He shook his head, biting his lip to keep from saying something he didn't want his mother to hear.

Yes—the evening had just gotten worse.

"Shall I open a window dear?" Isobel asked, standing as far from the kitchen as she could manage.

"It's freezing out there," he stated, staring at her incredulously. "You know there's a possibility of snow later tonight."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that fact," Isobel affirmed, opening the window latch without his consent. "But if you're going to spend an evening with Mary in this house, the air must be breathable."

He threw the spoon down on the stove, raking fingers through his hair as he shook his head.

"This is a disaster."

What had he been thinking when he'd invited her over for dinner? It was their first official date, and he had hoped for far more than he realistically should have done. Well, at the rate things were going, he most certainly would make an impression, all right. He might just impress Mary out the front door.

"Have you considered taking her out for dinner?"

He shoulders sagged in defeat.

"I had really hoped for a night in," he murmured, not realizing the implication he had just tossed in his mother's direction.

"Well, that's certainly understandable," Isobel returned, fluffing the curtains uncomfortably. "Although the two of you haven't known each other that long yet, Matthew. Are you certain such a big step is wise this early on?"

He stared at her incredulously, understanding finally smacking him across the face.

"No, mother, I didn't mean that we—"

"It's none of my business," Isobel interrupted, moving away from the blast of cold air that attacked the room. "You and Mary are both adults and how you choose to proceed with this relationship of yours is your decision and nobody else's."

He dropped his head again, pinching the bridge of his nose, wishing he could just start the day over. 

"But I would change that shirt, dear, whatever you decide to do," his mother continued, blissfully unaware of how badly he wanted her to shut up. "I'm afraid you may have ruined that one. And you won't make it past first base tonight if you smell like a barbecue gone awry."

He unbuttoned his collar, biting back something he might later regret when a squeal from Belle's bedroom grabbed his attention. He ran down the hallway, rounding the corner to her room breathlessly.

"What is it?" he asked, the tears streaming down her pink cheeks sounding internal alarm bells. "What's the matter, Belle?"

"It's Madeline," she sobbed, thrusting her favorite doll towards him in marked frustration. "I wanted us to wear our matching pajamas tonight, but her pants are ripped."

He sighed, the hammering of his pulse slowing as the absurdity of the situation struck him with force. The damaged doll-sized pajama bottoms were laid before him across her unclenched fist, her tears at something so small making him laugh.

"Anna is bringing her doll tonight, and they're going to match," Belle sobbed, trying to convey the seriousness of her dilemma. "Madeline and I have to match, too. Don't you see?"

"It's alright, sweetheart," he insisted, chuckling in spite of himself. "Ripped pajamas are nothing to get upset over."

"It's not funny, Daddy!" she insisted, wailing again as she pushed past him and raced down the hallway. He combed his fingers across his scalp, feeling completely inadequate for the task of raising a daughter alone.

"You have no idea, Belle," he muttered to himself, leaning against her dresser. "None whatsoever."

His mother's consoling voice could be heard from the family room, and he shook his head as his eyes rolled towards the ceiling. He pulled his shirt over his head and carried it to the clothes hamper in his bedroom, discarding it with force as he wondered why he was even bothering to clean it. His mother was probably right—it was more than likely ruined. His new shirt, their dinner, the evening itself—all completely ruined.

"Idiot," he whispered to himself, eyeing the soiled garment one last time.

"Matthew," Isobel called as if on cue, summoning his presence before he had time to locate a fresh shirt. "Would you please come here?"

He swore under his breath, walking shirtless to the front of the house only to find his mother and daughter huddled together on the couch.

"Can't it wait until I've put on a clean shirt?" he questioned, staring at the two of them impatiently.

"Oh, dear," Isobel remarked, taking in his appearance, "You probably should see to that immediately as Mary…"

He froze in place as the doorbell sounded.

"As Mary and Anna are here."

"Here?" he sputtered. "But I thought.."

Belle raced to the door and opened it before he had time to finish his sentence, and he stood there in mortification as Mary entered the room. She eyed his topless state with a surprised appreciation, swallowing with force as her eyes lit up.

"I'm sorry if we've caused any confusion," she observed, attempting to direct her gaze in Isobel's direction but failing miserably. "I thought it would be just as easy if Anna and I met up with you here."

"That's fine, dear," Isobel chirped, smiling at the other woman before casting a warning glare at her son. "No harm done."

He felt horribly exposed and actively fought down the urge to cross him arms over his chest.

"It would seem I'm overdressed," she mused quietly, setting down Anna's suitcase as she tried to stifle a grin. "Aren't you cold?"

The briskness of the air wafting through the open window finally hit him, and he dropped his head, running his fingers through his hair as he threw down whatever pride he had remaining.

"I was actually considering a swim," he retorted, unable to stifle a small smile of his own as her brow tweaked in his direction. "Would you care to join me?"

Their gazes locked, and his body reacted all too strongly to the faint blush that crept across her cheeks.

"I forgot to bring my bathing suit," she returned, flashing him a direct stare. "But as you seem to be improvising, I suppose I can, as well."

The charge between them was unmistakable, and he suddenly felt quite warm, despite the cold blast of hair upon in his naked skin.

"Don't mind us," Isobel cut in, taking both of her charges by their hands and hastily leading them to the door. "We'll just be going now. Don't forget your suitcases, girls."

Mary caught her breath audibly, turning in embarrassment back to the exiting trio, realizing just how obvious the two of them had just been.

"Good-bye, my sweet girl," she whispered to Anna, kneeling down to kiss her daughter on the cheek. "Be good for Mrs. Crawley."

"I will, Mamma," the girl promised, wrapping small arms around her mother's neck. "Have fun."

"I'm certain they will," Isobel observed, tossing her son a hasty glance over her shoulder as she practically pulled the girls out the front door. "Good-bye."

"Bye, Daddy!" Belle called from around the corner. "See you tomorrow."

The door slammed shut behind them, and they stared openly at each other, both of them at a momentary loss for words.

"If you'll excuse me," he attempted, motioning towards his bedroom. "I was just about to change."

"Don't bother on my account," she teased, taking off her coat and surveying the room around her. "I somehow think my reputation is already shot as far as your mother is concerned."

He grinned back at her in appreciation, taking a step in her direction.

"I'm afraid that's my fault," he explained sheepishly. "I told her how much I was looking forward to an evening in with you, and I think she got the wrong idea."

"So I just added fuel to the fire with my swimming comment," she observed softly. "I'm afraid I wasn't expecting to be greeted by a half-naked man when I walked in the door."

"Well, you know," he continued, surprised by his own daring. "Anything to make an impression."

The slight slanting of her eyes as she quickly scanned his body nearly knocked him backwards.

"Well, you certainly did that," she returned, shivering as a shot of wind barreled through the room. "Would you mind horribly if I closed that? I'm freezing."

"Here, let me," he insisted, shutting the window with force before turning back to her with a shrug. "I'm sorry about that. It would seem I burned our dinner past recognition."

"I somehow thought that might be the case," she confessed, smiling in earnest at the look of utter mortification that crossed his face. "The smell is rather strong."

"I should have stuck with meatloaf and potatoes, as Belle so wisely suggested," he admitted with a shrug. "But instead I ventured out of my league."

He looked at her directly, wanting to touch her so badly yet afraid of doing so in his half-clothed state.

"That can be dangerous, you know," she breathed, her eyes flickering to his mouth. "Trying something new. Doing the unexpected. Sometimes you can get burned."

A hint of vulnerability crossed her eyes, and he felt the sudden need to stroke her hair.

"I guess we'll never know unless we try," he ventured, standing just close enough to smell her perfume, wondering if he was half out of his mind. "Will we?'

God, she was so close, just there, right there. How was it she affected him so strongly after so short an acquaintance? He attempted to swallow down the sudden pastiness in his throat, wanting to move nearer, uncertain of how she might react if he did.

"No," she managed, leaning into him unconsciously, nearly making his knees buckle. "And it would be a shame to miss out."

He was burning up.

Her breath tickled his mouth as she licked her lips, and he leaned forward, one hand reaching up to cup her face, the other moving around her back just as…

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, making him jump.

"Damn," he whispered, receiving an appreciative laugh from this woman now just out of arms reach. "Hold on a minute."

He retrieved the offensive phone from his pants, glaring at the name "Mother" flashing across the screen.

"What is it?" he answered gruffly into the phone, Mary's eyes widening at his response. "Oh, well, yes. I can see why there might be a problem."

He nodded into the silent room, lost in the blackened pools of her eyes as he attempted to concentrate on what his mother was saying. It was nearly impossible.

"Alright then. See you soon. Good-bye, mother."

"That was mother," he explained, moving to set the phone down on the counter. "She and the girls are on their way back."

"Why?" she questioned, straightening her hair self-consciously. "What's happened?"

"Belle forgot her toothbrush," he answered with a shake of his head. "I'm afraid she can be fairly forgetful at times."

Mary grinned at him, reaching forward to run a finger down the side of his cheek. He nearly exploded at the contact.

"Well, in that case, I would go and put a shirt on," she mused, her fingertip sliding dangerously close to his mouth. "There's no telling what your mother will think if she finds you in this same state when she returns."

His chuckle rumbled deep, and he moved into her, taking her hand into his and pulling her as close as he dared.

"I don't know," he murmured against her lips, his eyes suddenly smoky. "There's something rather exciting in letting her wonder what we've been up to."

Her breath came in shallow gasps that teased his cheek, the desire to kiss her fully pressing against nerve in his body.

"But we haven't been up to anything," she hummed, the depth of her tone resonating against his chest as her arms snaked slowly around his neck.

"Yet," he amended with a grin, completely mesmerized by this woman right in front of him. He then bridged what little distance remained between them, rubbing his lips tantalizingly across her own before kissing her with a ferocity that shook them both.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flirting, Greek food and innuendo gone mad.

The shock of his mouth on hers was electric, the sensation of his tongue dancing against her own almost more than she could stand. Her toes curled under her feet as a shiver ran up her spine. God, this was glorious, better than she had imagined, and she pulled him closer, needing him so badly, terrified of wanting him so much.

Her fingers stroked the bare flesh of his neck, his back, intoxicated by the feel of more of him than she had bargained for tonight. Senses were awakening, those lulled into years of inaction now suddenly on full-alert.

"Mmmm," she hummed, as he drew back from her slowly, grinning at the rather dazed look on his face.

"God, Mary," he breathed, blinking in an attempt to refocus. "I—I…"

He broke off, his face coloring as his tossed her a boyish grin.

"I should go and get a shirt. Mother—"

"Will be here shortly," she finished for him, unable to pull her hands away from him just yet. "You're right. It would be the smart thing to do."

His lips touched down feather-like on her own, skimming the surface with marked control.

"I think it's a necessity," he managed, toying with a strand of her hair. "If I kiss you like that again while I'm only half-dressed, this date could get carried away before it has even really begun."

She made an appreciative noise as her arms slid slowly back to her side.

"Oh, I don't know," she murmured, biting her bottom lip as the tips of his ears turned red. "I think it's off to a pretty splendid start."

"I'm glad," he agreed, loathe to leave her even for a moment. "Although I am sorry about dinner."

"We'll order in," she reasoned with a small shrug. "Surely there are places nearby that deliver."

His fingers gently caressed her cheekbone, and he offered her a crooked smile.

"Thank you," he muttered, closing his eyes as her hand found his.

"Go get dressed," she instructed softly, giving him a slight shove. "I'll hold down the fort until you get back."

She watched him make his way down the hall, tracing where his lips had just been with a finger as she made her way to the kitchen. God, she liked this man so much, his very presence setting off feelings she hadn't experienced since…

She drew a deep breath in an attempt to clear her head. This was neither the time nor the place to traverse that road again.

But her heart squeezed tightly, the similarities in how she and Matthew related to each other with how she had been with him just too marked to miss. It wasn't that Matthew reminded her of him—they were very different men. It was rather that spark they shared, the laughter, the ability to banter and flirt shamelessly in a way that made her feel alive in places she'd forgotten existed. How she had missed these things, the ferocity of her craving for them nearly matching her lungs' need for air. She hadn't truly realized how dead she had felt inside until…

"Is Greek okay?"

She spun on her heels quickly, catching her breath in surprise as Matthew rounded a corner.

"Sorry," she breathed, attempting to calm her racing pulse. "I'm afraid you startled me."

"It's alright," he mused, stepping closer to capture a lock of her hair. "I seemed to have rudely interrupted your chain of thought."

"Maybe it needed interrupting," she admitted, her gaze dropping to the floor.

"Ah," he voiced, nodding his head in understanding. "Memories?"

The gentle inquiry touched her deeply, and she remembered brown eyes staring into her in such a manner as she looked back into pools of blue.

"Memories."

"They're a blessing and a curse, wouldn't you say?" he questioned, his observation constricting her throat.

"More than you know," she confessed softly, reaching out to touch his face, to grab onto what was standing before her rather than cascading into the abyss of her past.

"You loved him very much, didn't you?"

His assumption was clear, and her heart constricted as she fed him both a lie and the truth in one dose.

"Yes. So much that it hurt."

He dropped his hands to her arms, his expression begging for an honest answer.

"Listen, if I moved too fast earlier, please allow me to apologize," he stammered. "I honestly hadn't planned on kissing you so early on this evening."

"So you were planning on kissing me?" she teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Well," he murmured, his grin getting away from him. "I had hoped things might move in that direction. But I didn't mean to push you before you were ready. If you want me to slow down, just say so."

She laid a finger on top of his lips, shaking her head at his misunderstanding.

"That's not it at all," she explained, needing him to understand. "Besides, I thought I was the one who kissed you."

His hooded gaze made it suddenly difficult to breathe.

"Well, it seems we remember things differently," he pondered in mock severity. "That will never do."

"And just how do you suggest that we settle this matter?" she questioned, arching a brow in his direction.

"We repeat the experiment," he suggested, the smell of his after-shave tickling her senses. "After dinner, that is. When mother and the girls are safely back at her house."

"That's an idea," she stated, feeling a marked warmth slide up her neck. "I'm game if you are."

"Oh, I'm game," he stated, laughing softly as her stomach growled on cue. "But perhaps some food would be a good idea first."

"It can't hurt," she admitted with a slight shrug. "Apparently I'm starving. And Greek sounds lovely."

"Good," he grinned, the sweetness of his expression making her want to crawl into his skin. "There's a great little place nearby that delivers. Anything in particular you like?"

"Surprise me," she challenged, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear as he moved to his phone. "I like everything. But I hate olives."

"Wait," he stated, looking back in confusion. "How can you hate olives but claim to love Greek food?"

"Easily," she answered. "Olives are disgusting. Make sure you order my food without them."

"Olives are delightful," he argued, shaking his head at this new discovery. "And don't worry. I'll steal them from your dish so quickly you'll never know the difference."

"I'll know," she asserted as he picked up the phone. "Trust me."

His chuckle spread something warm all over her insides, something she had given up ever finding again years ago.

"Why does that not surprise me?"

An insistent knock directed their attention to the door, and he moved to answer it without missing a step.

"Is this what you were missing?" he asked, staring into three sets of rounded eyes as he brandished a toothbrush with Zorro-like charisma from behind his back.

None of them spoke a word.

"Well?" he questioned, raising his eyebrows in Belle's direction.

"Actually," she began, twisting her hands behind her back, "I wanted the purple one. The one with sparkles."

He stared at his daughter as if she had sprouted a third ear.

"What?"

The girl sighed audibly, rolling her eyes at her father's appalling lack of perception.

"You heard her," Mary chimed in, keeping a straight face with deliberation. "The purple one with sparkles. Belle obviously has her preferences. All women of taste do, you know."

He dropped his head before turning it in her direction, giving her a look that promised retribution as soon as they were alone.

"All high-maintenance women of taste, it would appear," he retorted, casting her an obvious challenge.

"Watch it Crawley," she threw back. "You are after my olives this evening, remember?"

He chuckled quietly and turned back the trio at the door, only to see his mother staring at him with her mouth hanging open.

"We're ordering Greek food, Mother," he muttered, lowering his voice intently.

"So that's what you're calling it," Isobel retorted, her stare too marked to ignore. "At least you have a shirt on."

"You do look warmer, Daddy," Belle chimed in, Anna nodding her dark head in agreement.

"I'm feeling warmer by the second, as well," he replied, tossing his own blatant glare at his mother.

"Well, Matthew," Isobel continued, clearly unfazed. "Are you going to fetch your daughter's toothbrush or aren't you? You two may be burning up in there, but it's rather cold on our end of things."  
His shoulders dropped, and he stepped back to let them in just before another cut him off.

"Here you go," Mary replied, reaching around him to lay the desired object in Belle's eager hand. "Is that the right one?"

"Yes," the girl answered with a gleeful bounce. "Thank you, Mrs. Gillingham."

"You welcome, Belle," Mary returned, giving her a smile as she gently squeezed her shoulder. "Now are you sure that you have everything you need? Pajamas? Your doll? Warm slippers?"

"Yes," the child insisted with a nod. "I have everything else."

"Alright then," Mary stated. "I think it's time for one more round of hugs, and then the sleepover can finally commence."

Matthew cleared his throat loudly as Isobel's eyebrows disappeared into her scalp.

The girls quickly hugged their parents, receiving kisses on the head along with a subtle nudge out the door as they followed Isobel's hasty charge back down to the car.

"So does she think I'm a complete seductress, now?" Mary dared, sitting delicately on the back of the couch. "Or simply a sex-starved single mom latching on to you for an evening?"

"Neither. I assure you," he voiced, his attempt at convincing her falling flat.

"Then why did she look at me as if I were about to break into the Dance of the Seven Veils at any moment?"

"It was the olive comment," Matthew sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets at the roll of her eyes.

"Thank God I refrained from commenting on the joys of stuffing grape leaves," she retorted, watching as his shoulders began to shake silently, his face reddening with inaudible laughter.

"Or my desire to sample your baba ganoush," he dared, rewarded by a bark of laughter tearing from her chest, both taken aback and thrilled by his boldness.

"Dipping into the hummus tonight is going to be quite an adventure, it would seem," she managed, her sides beginning to ache. "I hope the pita is up for it."

"God knows there's nothing worse than flimsy pita," he answered, his voice shaking as it finally broke into laughter. "Especially when you're really hungry."

Speech became impossible as their bodies shook in laughter, both attempting to calm themselves by digesting large drafts of air.

"An insubstantial pita can ruin the entire experience," she observed, exhaling audibly in attempt to regain control. "Everything else just falls flat after that."

He tossed her a marked look she felt everywhere.

"I suppose I should warn you that I may have difficulty keeping my hands off your baklava," he returned, the unsteadiness of his voice forcing her to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye as she giggled.

"As long as you don't mind me squeezing your falafel," she quipped, dissolving them into hopeless peals of laughter yet again. God, this felt glorious! When was the last time she had laughed this hard?

Breathless pants met on middle ground, eyes suddenly locking on to each other as hilarity gave way into a different type of intensity. Then the distance between them vanished before she realized he had moved, and his mouth was on hers, the ferocity of what was happening between them making her breasts tingle on contact. She latched on instinctively, holding him tightly, kissing him back open-mouthed in a heated climax of taut innuendo gone mad.

She clutched his hair, pressing in closer as tongues explored frantically, learning new ground in this connection neither of them could properly understand. What was this man doing to her? And why was she making it so easy for him?

"You did bring them, I hope," he finally breathed onto her lips, the ragged edge of his voice instigating a deep burn that both frightened and excited her.

She pulled back just far enough to look into blue eyes heavily dazed, attempting to fill her lungs enough to respond.

"What's that?" she inquired, still trying to process exactly what he had asked her through the sensual fog wafting within her brain.

"Those seven veils you mentioned," he answered, grinning like a fiend.

How could he manage to look so innocent yet wicked at the same time?

"I never leave home without them," she asserted, shivering as he leaned in a bit closer. "A girl never knows when they might come in handy."

"It's a good thing I wasn't aware of that when you threatened to tie me to the chair last weekend," he mused. "I had a hard enough time concentrating on my job as it was. If I had been aware you were in possession of such lethal weapons, I might have inadvertently damaged the ring toss booth beyond repair."

She grinned back at him, a deep hum of appreciation slipping through her teeth as her spine shivered.

"I try to keep my Salome-like tendencies under wraps. They can all too quickly give the wrong impression." She then bit her bottom lip, suddenly quite self-conscious. "I'm not like this with most people, Matthew. I need you to know that."

His sideways smile quickly melted any nerves, as he gently toyed with a stubborn lock of her hair.

"I've never behaved this way with a woman in my life, Mary," he confessed, a sigh of relief escaping his chest. "I'm honestly not certain of what exactly has gotten into me."

"Not even with your wife?"

He inhaled audibly, looking to the ceiling as if searching for the right words.

"Lavinia and I were friends for a long time before we ever developed a romantic relationship," he answered, lifting one of her hands and holding it tenderly. "It just happened for us, somehow. One day I realized how beautiful she was and wondered why I had never asked her out on a date. I finally did, and we never looked back."

He paused a moment, looking at her to be certain she understood. "She was a very gentle person. Sweet-natured, very agreeable. I think I can count the number of arguments we had on one hand. We had a very happy marriage, one I shall always treasure."

"I understand," she offered, processing both the similarities and differences to her own marriage and allowing them to settle.

"But we never…" he began, stroking a thumb across her knuckles. "We never did this."

Her chest heated immediately.

"So I'm a bad influence now, am I?" she teased, quirking a brow purposefully.

"The worst," he grinned, casting his eyes down a split second before gazing at her intently. "Please don't stop."

God—she couldn't breathe again, her heart constricting as it expanded.

"I don't know if I can," she finally confessed, her eyes widening at her own admission. "I've only acted this way with one other person, you know."

She licked her lips self-consciously, her lashes flickering as vulnerability set in.

"I understand," he returned, the sincerity of his gaze making her drop her eyes. How she wished he actually did, the knowledge that she couldn't hide things from him for much longer if they were to keep this up taking root. "And I'm honored that you're comfortable enough to share that with me."

She smiled softly and squeezed his hand. Her stomach chose that moment to interrupt yet again, making both of them smile as he leaned back a bit further.

"I suppose I should place our order," he observed, unable to look away from her. "Before you pass out from hunger."

"That's would be wise," she agreed, suddenly quite famished. "I'm really looking forward to this dinner, you know."

He moved to pick up his phone, smiling back at her as he began to place the call.

"So am I," he affirmed, holding the receiver to his ear. "I don't think I'll ever be able to look at Greek food the same way again."

"Just hold on to your chick peas," she purred just after he began to place their order, tossing him a brow as he nearly spit into his phone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary's past collides into her date with Matthew, prompting them to discuss past loves--among other things.

_This shouldn't be happening._

_A warm palm settled on her lower back, setting off a reaction she didn't want, didn't need, tried to fight in a battle she somehow knew she couldn't win. Awareness vibrated up her spine, making fingertips flutter as they came to rest on his shoulder. Why was it so difficult to breathe, all of a sudden?_

_She hated this man—despised his arrogance, railed at his cocky nature that exuded from that blasted grin. But he wasn't grinning now._

_Dark eyes were watching her too closely, marking her skin, skimming her lips, staring at her with an intensity that rattled her knees. The curve of his mouth beckoned her closer, his scent drawing her into something that scared the hell out her._

_"You're an excellent dancer."_

_His statement surprised her, and she realized they had never exchanged pleasantries. Insults and barbs were the skeleton of their private language, glares and sighs of exasperation filling in its musculature to create a creature quite abhorrent in her eyes. But he—now—here—he was far from abhorrent._

_He was downright tempting._

_"Thank you," she breathed, afraid of getting tangled in his gaze. "You're quite good, as well."_

_A chuckle rumbled across his chest into hers, making her shudder in places she prayed he couldn't detect._

_"Who'd have thought it?"_

_She couldn't fight the grin that emerged, the sting in her cheeks as her body reacted instinctively._

_"Yes, well, don't get too used to this," she mused. "I'm certain once this dance is over you'll remember my faults all too easily."_

_His brow creased, a trace of shame coloring his expression as he looked back at her with too much sincerity._

_"No. I think I'll remember your freckles."_

_Her feet nearly stumbled, and she squeezed his hand tighter for balance, unable to look away. Unable to breathe._

_"I don't care for them, actually," she volunteered, swallowing down a lump that had been non-existent just moments ago. "My sister used to say that she was going to connect my dots with her crayon when we were younger."_

_His half-smile simmered in front of her._

_"I can think of many more pleasant means of connecting them."_

_Her breath hitched audibly, his implication unmistakable as dark eyes widened into his._

_"I hope you're not thinking of using that sharpie of yours," she returned, her tease shooting up sensitized legs with a wicked thrill. "I'm afraid things could get rather messy."_

_His grin nearly knocked her over as his brow quirked in the same direction as hers._

_"Give me some credit, Mary. I know how to manage my sharpie very well."_

_She didn't doubt that for a second._

_"So you say," she tossed back, feeling bolder with each breath. "But maybe it would be better if you put a lid on it before it dries up."_

_His laugh tickled her shoulder, his nearness making her dizzy._

_"I have no fears of that happening when I'm dancing with you."_

_His gaze was hypnotic, his mouth much too close._

_"Do you really think I'm that easy?" she retorted, his breath feathering her temple._

_"One can always hope." A giggle escaped her, and he joined in readily, not letting go as the music came to a halt. "Why haven't we been doing this all along?"_

_"I don't know," she answered, unwilling to move her hand from his shoulder, wondering the same thing herself. "It's much preferable to vying for the privilege of drawing first blood."_

_"Much preferable," he murmured, taking up the next tempo without missing a beat. His form fit hers perfectly, and she prayed he couldn't feel her heart pounding mercilessly as it tried to break through her ribs. "God, I've been such a bastard."_

_"I haven't exactly been the queen of kindness where you're concerned," she admitted, becoming keenly aware that they had moved into the shadows of the room._

_"Even so," he began, staring into her in a manner she felt to her toes. "Forgive me?" '_

_Her hand found his cheek, her thumb stroking his face as she leaned towards him. Noses touched before lips, stroking lightly at first before this new dance intensified quickly. His kiss was a shock, a balm, an elixir she drank in greedily, and she willed legs to remain steady in spite of the electric shocks sparking across her thighs and breasts. It was just too, too much._

_"I think I will," she grinned huskily, overwhelmed by the dazed look on his face as their mouths parted ways. "Simply because I like your kisses."_

_"I approve of that reasoning," he breathed, touching his forehead to his, needing to extend this surprising connection. "Especially if it means I get to kiss you again."_

_"I was counting on it," she hummed, welcoming the sudden pressure of his lips seeking hers, the teasing nature of tongue stroking her upper lip. She moaned into him as he entered her mouth, the length of him nudging her open against the wall in the darkened corridor. She held on to him for dear life, tasting the salt of his tongue, memorizing the texture of his hair, warming to heat pulsing against her in places long dormant. "You do realize that I need a ride home?"_

_"That's right," he stated, his breathing coming in gasps, his body pressed securely against her. "Our dates did abandon us. I'd somehow forgotten. What a shame."_

_"Yes…isn't it?" she agreed, weaving fingers into thick locks. "I suppose I could call for a taxi to take me and my freckles home."_

_"Don't you dare." She gazed up at him, flashing her eyes at his assertion, grinning coyly at his demand. "Those freckles must be properly appreciated," he continued, blazing a trail from a dot on her clavicle to one near her ear. "Each and every one of them. It wouldn't do for one of them to be left out, you understand."_

_"Perish the thought," she whispered as her eyes rolled back, her back arching instinctively. "I suppose you think you're the man for the job?"_

_He turned her chin to look at him directly._

_"Only if you'll have me."_

_She knew then._

_It hit her with the speed and ferocity of lightening, bearing down with the intensity of a summer storm. This was the man she would love like she had never allowed herself to imagine, the one she would obsess over, dream about, want to call at odd hours just to hear the sound of his voice. He was meant to be hers. And just hours ago she had hated him._

_"Try to keep up," she murmured into his ear, feeling his response against her hip as she tossed him a brow._

_"I'll sprint if I have to," he grinned, sealing her heart with a kiss to her palm. His lips lingered just near her pulse, his gaze reaching hers with a tenderness that blindsided her._

_"But only if you're sure about this," he offered quietly, holding her hand to his chest. "This is…is just…"_

_To see him at a loss for words made her head spin again. She touched his face, drawing his eyes back to hers, wordlessly imploring him to go on. "It's so unexpected," he managed. "And I want to get it right."_

_She exhaled audibly, absorbing this newness, breathing in how right he felt up close and personal. How had he gotten to her so very quickly? And why didn't she mind?_

_"I hope you came prepared," she dared, her thighs trembling at the flare of his nostrils._

_"Why's that?" he inquired, making her shift as he toyed with an escaped tendril behind her ear._

_"Because I don't keep sharpies at my place, and you might need a case." She gave him a slight shove with her smirk as she moved past him, smiling at his footsteps behind her as she led him out the door._

* * *

 

"You missed one."

The olive dangled gingerly on Mary's fork, an offering Matthew accepted with a look she could not misread.

"We can't have that, now, can we?" he grinned in return, sliding the black ring into his mouth leisurely. "Missing anything you offer me would be a crime."

Her cheeks flushed in spite of herself, and she toyed with a stray lock of hair, glancing up at him with eyes darkening by the second.

"I'm flattered," she responded, casting her gaze to the middle of the table. "Does that mean I can get away with licking the rest of the hummus off the plate?"

His pants felt suddenly tighter as he succumbed to a thoroughly impulsive action.

"That's completely unnecessary," he breathed, scooting his chair in her direction. "Especially when I can be of assistance."

He took a wedge of pita from his plate, never breaking eye contact with this woman consuming him on every level. She watched him run the bread across the dish, completely mesmerized by the movement of his hand as it scooped up what hummus remained. She was under a spell, she rationalized, starved for interaction with a man who both challenged and soothed her in more ways than she was ready to admit. He then offered the pita, and she leaned in as he held the delicacy to her mouth. She bit into it, savoring the flavor as her lips grazed the tips of his fingers, shuddering at the intimacy of the gesture.

He watched her chew, stroking a crumb from the side of her mouth, feeling as though he might explode in his chair if he didn't kiss her again.

"I think that was the best hummus I've ever had," she hummed, licking lips drying by the second as her heart thudded under her ribs.

"So you're a connoisseur?" he dared, leaning in closer as his ears began to burn. "Of hummus, I mean."

"I'm actually very selective when it comes to how I like my chickpeas," she mused, the sideways tilt of her grin nearly knocking him backwards. "My standards are ridiculously high."

"Should I be nervous?" he inquired, stroking a nerve in her cheek that shot down to her thighs.

"Why?" she questioned softly, staring shamelessly at his mouth. "When I've already told you that I'm satisfied?"

"We could have a problem, then," he mused, tracing the edge of her ear in a manner that forced her eyes shut. "Because I'm not. Not yet, anyway."

Then the distance between them was gone as lips reconnected. Somehow she ended up in his lap, clinging on to him for dear life as they mutually consumed a kiss of exotic flavor. She needed more than was wise, wanted more than she should offer, but that didn't stop her from drawing his tongue further into her mouth, savoring him more than their meal until they both needed a moment to breathe.

"Maybe we should take this to the sofa," he suggested in a rather drugged state, stroking hair he desperately wanted to dishevel.

"Am I cutting off the circulation to your legs?" she teased, nipping her lower lip.

"Hardly," he breathed, aching for her with a force that alarmed him. "You're increasing it to places I probably shouldn't mention."

Her lips grazed his in a soft suggestion as her forehead came to rest on his. God—how was he doing this to her?

"Hummm," she smiled. "We can't have your eggplant overheating, now can we."

His chuckle was more felt than heard, tickling nerves already sensitized.

"Too late," he murmured into her mouth, feeling somewhat crazed. "You might need to guard your moussaka."

She could barely swallow.

"Aren't you the greedy one," she managed as his lips found a niche beneath her ear, her breath hitching as she clasped him tighter. "After I've already given you my olives."

"Appetizer," he stated, the taste of her skin far too addictive, the pulsing in his groin overpowering all coherent thought. "Good God, Mary."

How they moved from one location to another was a mystery, but somehow the transfer was accomplished. Limbs tangled as freely as tongues, arms still hungry binding one to the other in a kiss gone slightly mad. He leaned her into the cushions, covering her with his body as she clung to him for dear life. He pulled his mouth from hers, taking up a heated trail across her jawline that provoked an immediate reaction. She moaned into his neck, arching, pushing into his chest, his hips, his thighs. He was burning up. And she was coming undone.

The ability to reason had deserted them both, replaced by hands seeking new ground, hesitant, yet bold in their mapping of unexplored terrain. Her mouth was warm, he tasted of spices. She felt so right beneath him. God—what was he doing to her earlobe?

Bodies were meshing, clothes quickly turning into barriers both were tempted to cast aside. Then his thumb skimmed her rib cage, outlining the profile of her breast, making her cry out into his scalp as her fingers pressed in. He backed away, breathing hard, staring into this woman who had engulfed him with the ferocity of a hurricane. She was intoxicating, all-consuming, completely different than any woman who had ever intrigued him.

This was Mary. And he was falling in love with her.

The knowledge hit him squarely in the gut, his changed expression making her stare up at him with a veiled look of concern.

"What is it?" she asked, stroking a golden lock flopping hopelessly in to his eyes. "Is something wrong?'

"No," he answered, seeing her with new eyes, unable to resist feathering a kiss across her forehead. "No. It's just that—" God, she was beautiful. And funny. And utterly unlike anyone he had ever known. "I want to do this right, Mary."

His words flooded emotions already charged, the room spinning out of focus as she gazed into eyes she now knew she could deny nothing. "I know that probably sounds horribly old fashioned," he continued. "But I've never met anyone quite like you, and I don't want to risk what we have going by moving too fast."

Dark eyes misted over as fingers stroked his arm. The moisture pooling before him made his stomach sink, and he swore under his breath, unable to stop stroking her hair.

"I've upset you," he stated, shaking his head at his own stupidity. "I didn't mean it to sound as if—"

Her touch to his lips silenced him, the plea in her expression stilling his chain of thought.

"No," she breathed, keeping him close. "You haven't upset me. I actually think you're right to slow things down a bit, even though my body may not agree with that decision."

"Mine is calling me a damned idiot," he grinned, leaning in to her touch on his cheek.

"I think mine has a more colorful vocabulary."

Tension dissolved in shared laughter, soft caresses sealing the moment. He moved off of her slowly, drawing her with him, snuggling her under his arm as they sat upright.

"What's wrong then?" he questioned, turning to face her. "I can tell something's bothering you."

Her throat and heart swelled at the same moment, forcing her to take a deep breath as she stared into him.

"Nothing's wrong," she offered quietly. "It's just…"

"Memories again?"

His astuteness was a balm, his understanding a comfort she inhaled greedily.

"Yes," she affirmed, closing her eyes as his free hand sought hers. "Memories."

"You loved him very much, didn't you?" he questioned, drawing her into a place she circled relentlessly in solitude. "Anna's father, I mean." The simplicity of his assumption made her smile, and she nodded in silent affirmation. "Won't you tell me?"

"He said something very similar to me once," she sighed, leaning in closer, absorbing his warmth. "That he wanted to get things right between us."

"Ah," Matthew murmured, understanding at once. "Intelligent man, obviously."

She smiled ruefully, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

"Yes, he was. Very intelligent. And I couldn't stand him at first."

His eyes widened in surprise, a chuckle slipping out before he could contain it.

"Well, that was unexpected," he mused, watching a grin creep back across her face.

"Everything about our relationship was unexpected," she confirmed. "He thought I was snobbish and opinionated, and I was convinced he was an arrogant ass."

"Not exactly a stellar beginning," he observed, intrigued by this nugget of information.

"Not at all," she agreed. "It's a wonder we ever made it past our first impressions."

"How did you?" Her face softened at his inquiry, and he recognized the pull of the past in the opaqueness of her expression.

"Everything changed at a mutual friend's wedding reception," she replied hazily. "We were conveniently seated at the same table. Somehow, our dates decided they liked each other's company better than ours and ditched us after a few dances."

"You're kidding," he insisted, unable to fathom how any man with an ounce of sense would ditch Mary for someone else.

"No," she tossed back with a lop-sided grin. "We finally decided that dancing would be preferable to glaring at each other across the table. And then..."

God—she hadn't wanted to like him, had fought the heated urgency that blindsided her the moment he took her hand. Then came the unexpected thrill that shot down her legs when his hand settled on her lower back, the intoxicating smell of his cologne, the warmth radiating from his cheek as he held her closer than necessary. The intensity in dark eyes had held her captive, the feel of his breath caressing her ear making her long for something she tried to fight off with cold reason.

"Then everything shifted."

Her expression was hazy, brown eyes creased in a pain borne of deep love stolen prematurely.

"Just like that?" he questioned, fascinated by this experience so vastly different that his own with Lavinia. Yet the knowledge that it was eerily similar to the progression of his feelings for the woman right beside him made him shift unconsciously. How the hell was this happening?

"Just like that," she affirmed, looking back to him with a new depth. "That's how things seem to happen for me. All of a sudden or not at all." A raw vulnerability shone up at him, one that nearly tore his heart from his chest. "Does that make me flighty?"

He lifted her chin, touching her lips with a gentleness that made her ache.

"It makes you passionate," he stated with a half-grin. "And completely irresistible."

God—this man! She clutched his head, pulling him to her, kissing him with a fervor long buried clawing to find new life. Arms enclosed him, he who was already under her skin, needing him too much, wanting him far too badly. His hands held her close, binding her to him in a way still so new. Her essence fogged all reason, pushing him to explore her mouth with a heat beyond his experience. He wanted her—everything about her, and he poured himself into a kiss that meant more than it should. He stared at her again as he drew away for air, knowing this was too early, not understanding how it had happened. But it had.

"Does this terrify you at all?"

Her whispered inquiry summoned his attention as his fingers stroked her hair.

"Every inch of me, actually." His admission made her smile, and she bit her lower lip, nodding in agreement.

"Me, too."

A comfortable silence hovered around them, breaths and expressions mingling in veiled intimacy.

"We know the cost," he voiced softly, clearing his throat. "How it feels when you lose someone you—" The word hitched in his throat, struggling for passage as his heart thudded uncomfortably.

"Someone you love."

The silken tone of her voice slid around him, heating his face and ears as he looked at her meaningfully.

"Yes. Someone you love," he agreed.

"It's a huge risk," she continued, her fingers stroking the back of his neck. "Letting down your guard ….letting someone in again."

"Especially when things are still messy inside," he mused, making her laugh. "I could use a major clean-up job."

"You have no idea," she added, tweaking her brow. "I think I may have structural damage."

"Don't we all?" Her heart squeezed as it did all those years ago, blue eyes summoning her this time, asking her for a dance, leading her down a road too enticing to resist.

"I mean it, Matthew," she warned, worried he might change his mind the more layers he uncovered. "You have no idea what all you're taking on in me."

"I can handle it," he asserted, outlining her lips with his finger, making her breath hitch in her lungs. "Besides, I have no choice."

"Why's that?" she asked, half-afraid of his answer, half-greedy in anticipation of it.

"Well, it's like you said," he began, swallowing thickly as his brows drew together. "Sometimes it happens before you know it. Just like that."

Her chest rose and fell heavily, everything hitting her with a force that made her tremble.

"Just like that?" she repeated, making certain, seeking assurance, wanting to make love to him and run away screaming at the same time. His mouth sought hers again gently—an intention, a promise—ripe with the knowledge that it was more than physical attraction pulling them together this time. He then drew back slowly, touching her nose with a playful grin highlighting the truth in his eyes.

"Yes, Mary Gillingham," he affirmed, his voice deepening. "Just like that."

"Then God help us," she returned, her voice husky with need and emotion, as she tucked herself into an embrace now all too vital. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Details of Matthew's past are shared, and Mary, Matthew and the girls get ready for a trip to the movies.

_"Won't you even look at them, Matthew?"_

_Her plea halted his progression, and he turned to look into eyes that rarely asked anything of him. They were now questioning, searching, pleading with him to give this a chance. Damn. He turned back to her, making his way to a table strewn with brochures. He picked one up and turned it over, staring at statistics and figures that made him more nervous than he could justify being._

_"There is an informational meeting this weekend," she put forward haltingly, leaning in closer. "No commitment required, but we could ask questions."_

_His sigh scraped the sides of his ribs, the knowledge of how much this meant to her warring with the logical concerns that bound him in a stranglehold. There was risk involved, so much uncertainty, and the very real possibility of having their hopes crushed yet again._

_"Most of my questions are answered in this material," he stated, trying to help her understand. "The time-frame, the cost." He shook his head, laying the flyer back down. "You've got to understand that there are no guarantees in this process, sweetheart. This could blow up in our faces, and then where would we be?"_

_"Exactly where we are right now," Lavinia pronounced, touching his arm. "But the odds are that this will work, Matthew. International adoption is extremely common, you know."_

_"I'm well aware of that," he stated. "I'm an attorney, for God's sake." He shook his head, stepping away from the table, rubbing his scalp. "If you only knew how many things can go wrong in this process, how much money can be lost, how unpredictable foreign governments can be." He paused, turning back to her, shoving restless hands into pockets in a futile attempt to keep them still. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again."_

_She stood slowly, making her way towards him until she stood by his side._

_"I think the possibility of having another child is worth the risk. Don't you?"_

_It was the question he had been asking himself repeatedly, attempting to retrieve a satisfactory answer out of a realm of hazy grays._

_"I'm happy the way that we are," he admitted, swallowing down self-censure as he watched her face fall. "You and Belle are more than enough for me, and you always will be."_

_Her head dropped, and he knew that he had hit a nerve._

_"Just because I want another child doesn't mean that I'm not perfectly happy with our family the way that it is," Lavinia dared, her voice quivering slightly. "But I think it would be lovely for Belle to have a little brother or sister. Don't you?"_

_Shoulders fell beneath the weight of indecision, the realization of how much his wife blamed herself for the fact they could have no more biological children crushing his heart._

_"I think Belle will be fine either way," he attempted, clearing his throat as he took her hand. "We're both only children, and look how well-adjusted we are."_

_"So you've made up your mind?" The edges of tears welled unbidden, and she could not look at him, staring down at the images of soulful-eyed children from countries unknown. "Would it be that difficult for you to love a child we didn't create?"_

_He stepped back from her, the implications of her question stinging nerves already overrun with guilt._

_"No," he insisted, pacing the floor. "Not at all. This has nothing to do with that." A mirthless chuckle escaped him, leaving a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. "Do you really think that is the issue here? That I would hold a child accountable or deem them less worthy of love simply because of the circumstances of their birth?"_

_"No, of course not," she threw back, pressing her lips together. "I know your heart, Matthew. I just cannot figure out why you are so reluctant to investigate this possibility."_

_He breathed out heavily through his nostrils, wishing he fully understood his own hesitation._

_"I've just seen so many things go wrong in procedures such as these," he stated, stroking her cheek, her obvious disappointment cinching his intestines. "Couples who were told they were getting a healthy child ending up with one who has severe medical needs, families who traveled half-way across the world only to have something go wrong in country, governments shutting down all international adoption procedures at the drop of a hat, leaving waiting parents high and dry and without their child or their money."_

_She dropped her head, wiping a cheek in haste, looking so much like she had in the physician's office when Dr. O'Reilly had explained why additional biological children were not possible for them. It had hurt, but he had accepted it, going home and scooping up his infant daughter, cradling her to his chest with more gratitude and wonder than any man had a right to feel. But the news had been devastating to Lavinia. She had retreated to their bedroom and shut the door._

_Limbs barely touched under the sheets, bedtime stories became solitary affairs he whispered to their daughter in the recesses of her nursery. Life as he had known it ceased to exist, his dwelling now in a frozen realm uncharted, one that confused him. One that nearly made him ill. But then a glimmer, a smile, a re-emergence of the woman she had been finally appeared. Conversations became more frequent, laughter was heard again, touches and kisses were both sought and accepted. Belle's babbles entertained them both, and Lavinia lost herself in their child's growth and development, studying every book and journal she could get her hands on, keeping progress charts until Matthew nearly became cross-eyed. The world again seemed balanced, and he had felt more than a bit relieved, thrilled at seeing her so happy, thankful to have such a wife and daughter._

_But then a brochure was found on his nightstand, an email was forwarded. Conversation at dinner began to drift towards the Mercer family and their new baby from China, to the Palumbos and their anticipated trip to Russia. A knot of dread had formed in his gut, the knowledge that she wanted him to connect the dots and pick up this thread of conversation making him feel pressured in a manner he wasn't used to with her._

_"But for every couple that has problems, there are 20 that bring home wonderful children," she contended, her grip on his arm tightening. "My God, Matthew, there are risks associated with childbirth—something we both know all too well. But that didn't stop us from having Belle."_

_He had now answer for that, no rebuttal, no defense. He looked from her desperation to the wall in front of him, the face of his daughter grinning back at him from 3 different frames._

_"Would you give her back had you known what was coming?"_

_Her whisper touched his neck, spawning a shiver down his legs._

_"Of course not," he refuted, frustrated at their inability to communicate. "But why take another risk now when we're so happy?"_

_Her gaze hit its mark, making him immobile as words he would never forget were uttered in a twisted sort of prophecy._

_"Because life is unpredictable, Matthew," she insisted, her tone surprisingly resolute. "And embracing it is always worth the risk."_

* * *

 

"Are you almost ready, Daddy?"

He grinned at her impatience, watching her body bounce on knees eager to make an exit.

"Yes. I'm almost ready."

"Well, come on then," Belle insisted, walking towards him as he sat down to don his socks and shoes. "I don't want to be late for the movie."

"We have plenty of time, munchkin, believe me," he assured her. "In fact, I doubt the Gillingham girls are ready just yet, and we are picking them up."

"Oh, Anna will be ready," Belle insisted. "It's her mommy who always runs late."

He couldn't help but laugh at the truth of her statement.

"I can't argue with you there," Matthew grinned, mussing her ginger waves. "Now let me get my other shoe on."

"Why don't we just ask them to move in with us?" Belle questioned, nearly making him drop his sock. "That way we won't have to worry about picking them up when we all go out together."

His tongue refused to function as he stared gaping-mouthed at his daughter.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," Matthew finally managed, shaking cobwebs out of his brain. "People don't move in together just to save time, Belle."

"Why not?" the girl asked, her face scrunching in confusion. "If they moved in, Anna and I could play together all the time, and you and Mrs. Gillingham could have another baby."

He nearly choked on pure air.

"Belle, Mrs. Gillingham and I have only been dating for a short amount of time," he began, feeling his way through a conversation he never dreamed of undertaking with a five year old. "When people have a baby together, they need to be fully committed to each other, to know that they can give that child a proper upbringing with a loving mother and father."

"But you are a loving father," she insisted wide-eyed. "And Mrs. Gillingham is a good mother. I don't understand."

His arms enveloped her as his chest filled, and he wondered yet again at what he would have done without this little miracle in his life. How unthinkably dark the past two years would have been without her.

"Mrs. Gillingham is a wonderful mother," he agreed, drawing back to look at her, seeing so much of his late wife. "And who knows? One day we might decide to get married and have more children. But for now we are still getting to know each other better—all four of us are, in fact."

"You mean me and Anna, too?"

Wide eyes gazed up at him, and he couldn't help but touch her cheek.

"Yes," he replied warmly. "You and Anna, too. It's important that all of us become well-acquainted if we hope to have any type of future together. Do you understand?"

The girl grew quiet, staring at him with a look that was beyond her years.

"I think so," she finally stated, sticking out her lower lip. "I just don't see what the big deal is. We all get along already."

A chuckle escaped him, and he couldn't help but wonder what Mary would say to all of Belle's questions.

"Yes," he agreed. "We all get along very well. But there is more to consider when you are talking about blending two families together. Quite a bit more."

"If you say so," Belle put in with a shrug. "But you like kissing her. I can tell."

"Where are you getting all of this?" he stammered, experiencing a sinking sensation as if it were his mother standing in front of him rather than his daughter.

"From school," she admitted, pulling him out of his seat. "Ryan Turner said he knew his mommy was going to marry her boyfriend when he saw them kissing in the kitchen."

"Remind me to have a talk with Ryan Turner," he mused with a sigh. "And just when have you seen me kiss Mrs. Gillingham?"

Her grin was impish, matching her giggle as she dragged him outside.

"Lots of times," she admitted, yet again catching him off-guard as the door clicked shut behind them.

* * *

 

"Anna—are you ready?"

Mary tossed the question over her shoulder, holding up two different earrings as she debated which pair best matched her sweater. "Anna?" she repeated at the silence that met her inquiry. "Did you hear me? Mr. Crawley and Belle will be here very soon, you know."

She inspected herself in the mirror one last time, nodding in satisfaction before turning in curiosity at her daughter's failure to reply. Making her way across the hallway, she heard a small voice carrying on a lively conversation, and she peaked through the crack in the doorway, smiling as she watched Anna play with her Barbies.

"You look beautiful," the girl stated in a low voice, maneuvering her favored Ken doll closer to his brunette companion.

"And you are so handsome," she answered for the female before putting them together in what was obviously supposed to be a passionate kiss. Mary's brows flicked up in surprise as she watched her daughter maneuver the dolls into the front seat of a pink convertible before adding two little girl figurines to the back seat. "Now let's go to the movies," Anna spoke for Ken, pushing the car towards some unknown destination as she revved up the motor.

"I take it you're ready to go?" Mary broke in, entering the pastel room and sitting on the carpet, unable to keep her gaze from straying to the pint-sized foursome ready for a night out on the town. Anna nodded in response, turning her gaze on her mother.

"You look pretty, Mommy."

Mary stroked the girl's hair, dotting a kiss upon her forehead.

"So do you," she returned, picking up a half-dressed doll left behind in the Dream House. "And just where are the Barbies off to this evening?"

"To the movies," Anna replied. "Just like us."

"Ah," Mary breathed, staring at the small car with interest. "Just like us." She felt a jolt in her rib cage at the realization that us now bore an entirely new connotation than it had just weeks ago. God, was she ready for this? "Are you excited about going out with Mr. Crawley and Belle tonight?"

"Sure," Anna answered. "Can we get popcorn? I haven't had a snack this afternoon. I've been saving up."

"I think that can be arranged," Mary grinned, envying such simplicity of thought. "Besides, it isn't a proper night at the movies without popcorn."

"Can we get some Skittles, too?" Anna dared with a half-grin.

"Don't push your luck, missy," Mary returned, her eyes narrowing in a mock reprimand. "I don't want to give Mr. Crawley the impression that the two of us live on junk food alone. Besides, you know I always keep some Skittles in my purse."

A quiet giggle followed her admission, and she stared at her growing daughter as a need for reassurance built all too quickly.

"Anna—you do like Mr. Crawley, don't you?"

There it was—that spark of life that lit up her child's deep eyes so often. That spark that never failed to remind her of someone else. Someone who still tugged at her heart.

"Yes," Anna replied with a nod. "I like him a lot." Mary exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, getting ready to push herself from the floor. "Are you going to marry him, Mommy?"

She sat back down just before her knees gave out.

"Well, I…" Speech deserted her for a moment as thoughts she had attempted not to consider raced through her mind. Her first marriage had not been what she had planned or expected, and deep feelings of failure as a wife had imprinted scars on a soul already bruised and broken. "I don't know, darling," Mary finally managed, crossing her legs. "We've only known each other a short time."

Guilt stabbed her in the gut yet again as she considered years spent with Tony that had left both of them wanting, a situation that had been no one's fault but her own.

"But you like him a lot," Anna returned softly, a small brow raising in emphasis. "Mr. Crawley, I mean."

"Yes," Mary admitted, staring back at the dolls as her heart hammered against her throat. "I like him a lot."

"I knew it," her daughter mused with a sly grin, giggling at her mother's surprised expression.

"And just how do you know such things?" Mary inquired, tucking a stubborn strand of hair behind her ear as she sought to regain her composure.

"Because he makes you smile."

An odd flutter gurgled up from her stomach, and she pushed herself to sit on her knees. Anna was right—she had been smiling more, laughing at unexpected things, enjoying bursts of energy she had thought forever lost. How little had she smiled during her daughter's lifetime, Mary suddenly mused, knowing with a pang that she had spent too much time dwelling in the shadows of grief and guilt rather than enjoying the life given her.

"He's a very nice man," Mary whispered, fighting a sudden constriction in her throat.

"Like my daddy?"

Treacherous hands started to tremble, and she released a shaky breath.

"Yes, my darling," Mary affirmed, stroking her daughter's hair. "Just like your daddy."

Dear God, if she concentrated hard enough she could almost catch his scent, and she fought back a tear as she watched her child's dimple emerge as if on cue.

"Did he make you smile, too?" Anna asked, her curiosity about this man of whom she had no real knowledge so very evident. That endearing smirk nuzzled its way into her thoughts yet again, the ingrained sound of his easy laughter creating an ache she knew would never fully dissolve.

"Oh, yes," Mary answered, feeling her cheeks redden as memories too intimate to voice invaded her mind. "He made me smile all over."

The beaming grin that met her admission warmed her from the inside out.

"Just like Mr. Crawley, then," Anna observed, biting her lower lip in childish curiosity. How simple it all sounded when uttered in such innocence. Was it possible that her life could be that uncomplicated? Did she dare attempt to untangle the knots of her past? Did she truly possess the courage to let Matthew Crawley in? She took a deep breath, both unable and unwilling to quell a sense of lightness tingling across her limbs at her own realization. She wanted to do this, to take another stab at happiness, to plunge into waters still uncharted, no matter how unpredictable the forecast.

"Yes," Mary admitted quietly, looking to her daughter as a painful past began to embrace an enticing present. "Just like Mr. Crawley." 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle informs Mary of the Girlfriend Rules while the Crawleys and the Gillinghams enjoy a night out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many chapters from the past two forward will begin with flashbacks into either Mary or Matthew's past. These sections will always be italicized to make them easy to distinguish from the present-day narrative.

_"I didn't know you could sing."_

_The noise from the vacuum drowned out her observation, and Mary sneaked up on him with a grin, staring appreciatively at a bare expanse she had to fight down the urge to kiss. The taste of him was still in her mouth, lingering on her tongue, shooting sparks to places well-tended in a night neither of them saw coming._

_Last night. God—she had no words for what had swept over them last night. Fingers traced a pattern up his back, making him jump with a start before he shut down the machine. He turned in her direction, wearing nothing but boxers and that grin that knocked her out at the reception. The one that bewitched her while they were dancing…and staring…which had led to touching…kissing…tasting…_

_This was insanity. How was she supposed to handle this? Her legs were tingling like mad and she hadn't even had a cup of coffee._

_"Good morning," he hummed, eyeing her oversized sweatshirt and knee socks, giving them a smirk of approval. "Did you sleep well?"_

_"When I actually slept," she admitted, eliciting a low chuckle that targeted her nipples all too quickly._

_"You did keep me rather busy last night," he purred, tugging on the hem of her shirt. "I had no idea you were a woman of such appetites."_

_"Me?" she tossed back, losing her fingers in hair still disheveled. "I refuse to take sole responsibility for the state of my bed this morning."_

_"And just how would you describe its state?" he inquired, the pads of his fingers inching towards bare flesh._

_"Wild," she retorted, her hands tracing the lines of his chest, absorbing texture as she breathed in his scent, still raw and carnal, the fusion of bodies pressed into his pores._

_"Rather fitting, wouldn't you say?" he teased, nudging her nose with his, touching her upper lip with the tip of his tongue. "After what we did there." Her eyes fluttered as an ache intensified._

_"And just why are you vacuuming?" she questioned, the silken texture of her voice arousing him visibly._

_"I was trying to make coffee," he explained, his dimple flickering in time with her pulse. "But I dropped the bag."_

_"Ah," she mused, snaking her arms around his neck. "So I guess you owe me, then."_

_"Then perhaps I should pay up," he crooned across temple, curling toes under her feet. Hot hands settled around her waist, pulling her closer into a kiss borne of sheer need. Lips opened, tongues tangled, the heat of want morphing into a morning tango both were more than ready to dance._

_"You didn't tell me you could sing," she breathed into his neck, shivering as he slowly traced the underside of her derriere._

_"I'm a man of hidden talents," he stated roughly before finding that spot behind her ear again that drove her to distraction._

_"Hmmmm," she managed, biting his shoulder, eliciting a growl that made her throb. "So you keep telling me."_

_"I'd rather show you," he dared, inching hands up under the sweatshirt, tickling the swell beneath her breasts._

_"Stop tickling," she finally demanded, not recognizing her own voice as she clasped his backside firmly, eliciting a smile._

_"Cheeky," he mumbled, tonguing her lobe as she pushed her nails into his back. "You seemed to enjoy those singing lessons last night,"_

_"And we both know that I was the instructor," she asserted, a tremor scurrying down her legs as her back met the wall. She arched against him, feeling his need press against her own, melting into a kiss gone wild._

_"Always the diva," he whispered, his lips heating against her skin as she tried to pull him closer. "_

_"Always," she panted, her breath coming in gasps as if she had been jogging._

_"Thank God," he breathed, twirling her into the sofa as cushions fell askew across the floor. He was a drug, she reasoned, one overtaking her bloodstream, infusing her with an unbearable lightness as he stimulated every nerve until it hummed his tune. She wrapped herself around him, needing more, wanting everything, seizing this insanity lest it slip through her fingers. They drove each other forward, touching, kneading, pleasuring until she finally cascaded over the brink, lost to everything save this man now a part of her. Then he broke, falling into her, whispering her name into hair and skin, clasping her closer until they both lay sated and somewhat in awe._

_"Well, another room in my house is now a disaster," she mused, limbs hopelessly entwined with his, covered by the warmth of his body._

_"If we concentrate, perhaps we can decimate the entire place before I leave," he returned, stroking her hair. "Although I might need some coffee first."_

_"Hmmm, a man with ambition," she quipped, smiling at the musicality of his laughter._

_"If you only knew how far it reached where you're concerned," he teased, a finger circling a nipple until it peaked at his bidding._

_"You mean it extends beyond the trashing of my house?" she questioned, caressing lips that had just mapped her in exploration. His exhale tickled her neck, raising bumps along her flesh as he looked inside of her._

_"Mary, I want to hold your hand," he began, the slight wobble in his voice increasing the rate of her pulse. "I want to go on walks with you and get lost. I want to laugh at stupid TV shows with you while we cuddle on the couch. I want people to see us out together and wonder just how the hell a guy like me ended up with a woman of your caliber."_

_Her mouth hung open, but she didn't care, her breath coming in measured puffs as the enormity of his words stroked her insides._

_"I want to discover you, Mary, to get to know everything about you," he continued, granting her a small smile that released his dimples. "I want to be with you, not just like this, but in ways we'll learn together." He gazed down at her stunned expression, shaking his head at himself. "I've probably frightened you off now, haven't I?"_

_Her face was hot, her tongue nearly too dry for speech._

_"No," she asserted with a whisper while stroking his cheek. "Not at all."_

_He kissed her then, like he never had before, and she tasted promise on his tongue, taking the future into her mouth as they forged a wordless contract._

_"I've been wanting to see that new Sandra Bullock movie," she stated as their lips drew apart slowly. "Maybe we could go tonight?"_

_"Did you just ask me out?" he teased, sliding fingers up her arm. "How very bold of you."_

_"I'm a woman of ambition," she tossed back, the resulting gleam in his eyes doing something inside her stomach. "You know, seize the day and all that."_

_"That's not the day you're currently seizing," he voiced dangerously in her ear, making her laugh in earnest as he tickled her ribs._

_"Forgive me," she quipped after catching her breath. "I must have gotten misdirected."_

_"Misdirected, my ass," he sighed, drawing a laugh from her as he rolled to her side. "And you would pick a chick flick for our first date."_

_"If you're lucky, I'll cry on your shoulder," she mused, tracing circles on the very body part just named._

_"Then I would have to comfort you, wouldn't I?" he inquired as he stroked the outside of her ear, making her arch against him._

_"That might depend upon your definition of comfort," she dared, her eyes sparking a challenge._

_"Here," he grinned, not missing a beat. "Allow me to offer you a preview."_

* * *

 

"With butter or without?"

Anna looked back up at him wide-eyed as if this were the most ludicrous question she had ever heard.

"Extra butter," the girl stated, tilting her head slightly in a gesture that was so like her mother.

"Extra butter?" Matthew inquired, staring at Mary as he fought down an incredulous grin. "How on earth do you taste the popcorn if it's swimming in extra butter?"

"The butter makes it better," Mary retorted, flicking her brow at him suggestively. "And there's nothing quite like licking the residue off your fingers."

His jeans tightened instantly. God, this was going to be a long movie.

"Extra butter, it is, then," he murmured, responding all too quickly to the slight sparkle in her eyes. "But don't blame me if things get messy."

"You worry too much," Mary tossed back smoothly. "But grab plenty of napkins. Just in case."

"Just in case," Matthew repeated, his voice low and edgy. "You are a terrible tease, you know,"

"You have no idea," she purred, grinning appreciatively as his ears began to redden. He rolled his eyes with a sigh as he set off towards the concession stand, leaving the two girls in her charge. "Now, ladies," Mary broke in. "Does anyone need to go to the bathroom? We don't want to have to get up during the movie."

"I went before we left," Belle answered quickly.

"So did I," Anna added with a shrug. "You know that, Mommy."

"I know, sweetheart, but it never hurts to ask," Mary stated. "Just drink your Sprites slowly."

"You sound like Daddy," Belle giggled, swinging Mary's hand she had clutched in her smaller one.

"Do I?" Mary inquired as she looked down at the girl.

"Yes," Belle answered, gazing up at her with rounded eyes. "But with a higher voice."

Mary chuckled at the observation, giving the child's hand a slight squeeze.

"That's good," she agreed. "It would be pretty confusing if we sounded just alike. You wouldn't be able to tell who was saying what."

Both girls laughed, Belle gazing up at her as if she had just uttered the silliest statement ever spoken.

"Of course you sound different," she sighed. "Girlfriends have to have higher voices. It's a rule."

The description hit her squarely, setting off a tingling sensation as she stared at Matthew, eliciting a lopsided grin from him as he waved to them from the line.

"So what other rules are there for girlfriends?" Mary dared, swallowing back nerves that made her feel eighteen again.

"Hmmm," Belle mused, tapping her chin. "Well, they need to smell good."

"Good one," Mary agreed. "That's a rule for boyfriends, too, you know."

Anna laughed quietly, clearly enjoying this exchange.

"And really good girlfriends know how to fix hair," Belle added quickly. "Daddy isn't that good at it."

"Fixing hair is an art," Mary nodded, completely engaged by this conversation. "I can braid and use a curling iron. Will that do?"

"Probably," Belle tossed back. "Can you fix a ballet bun?"

"I think I could manage," Mary replied. "With some practice."

"Sounds good," Belle smiled. "I really want to take ballet."

"So do I," Anna threw in, catching her mother off-guard.

"Since when?" Mary inquired, her brows creased in confusion.

"Since forever," Anna retorted, looking at her mother as if she had just sprouted wings.

"Any other rules I should know about?" Mary inquired, digesting this nugget of information.

"Can you bake cookies?'

"Of course," Mary affirmed. "There has to be a stash of cookies around the house. That's a requirement."

"Chocolate chip?" Belle continued eagerly.

"My favorite," Mary observed, giving the girl a smile.

"Good," Belle sighed. "Daddy makes me eat these fruit wafers," she continued with a grimace. "They taste like Play-Do."

"Ewww!" Anna returned, her look rather sour.

"Ew," Mary agreed, appreciating Matthew's displeasure as he seemed to realize he was being discussed from a distance.

"Don't worry," Belle stated. "My boyfriend brings me chocolate chip cookies for lunch."

"Your boyfriend?" Mary shot back, brows arching in surprise.

"Wyatt Martin," Belle replied evenly. "His mommy bakes great cookies."

"Don't you think you're a little young for a boyfriend?" Mary questioned, gazing at Matthew's daughter with interest.

"Of course not," Belle responded. "Emily Rivers has three."

"And do you have a boyfriend, young lady?" Mary questioned, starting at her own child, half-dreading her reply. Anna shook her head, dropping her eyes to the floor as Belle answered for her.

"No, but she likes Reuben Garcia." Her daughter's neck flushed pink in a manner Mary knew well, and she tugged on the little girl's hand, giving her a gentle smile.

"He never bothers anybody," Anna admitted sheepishly. "And he's really smart. He can already subtract and even multiply a little."

"Then I approve," Mary remarked gently, tossing her gaze from one girl to the other. "Intelligence, good manners and having a mother who can cook are important qualities to look for in a man."

"Uh-oh," Belle murmured, her eyes rounding out of proportion.

"What is it?" Mary questioned quickly.

"Grandma Isobel isn't a very good cook," the girl admitted, looking somewhat terrified. "But don't tell her I told you so."

"You're secret is safe with me," Mary assured her with a wink, wondering why the child still appeared so concerned. "What's the matter, Belle?"

"Will you still like my daddy even though his mother can't cook?" Belle gushed, the innocence of her inquiry tugging on Mary's heart. "He can make a great meat loaf. I promise."

The plea on her features was almost too much, the fear that she had just sabotaged her father's date clearly etched across her face.

"Of course I will," Mary returned. "I'm not dating your father for his cooking skills, or his mother's for that matter."

"Then why are you dating him?" Belle asked. "Because he's smart?"

"Yes," Mary asserted with a nod. "And for many other reasons, as well."

"Like what?" the girl pressed gently.

"Well, he's kind, for one thing," Mary answered. "He clearly adores you, he thinks his jokes are funny, and he loves Looney Tunes."

"I love Looney Tunes!" Belle exclaimed wide-eyed.

"Anybody with taste loves Looney Tunes," Mary clarified, giving the child a wink.

"Is he a good kisser?" Belle dared, making Mary nearly choke.

"That's one question I refuse to answer," she returned with as much composure as possible.

"That means yes," Anna chimed in.

"That means this line of discussion is over," Mary insisted, giving her daughter a look. "And I still say that you're both too young to have boyfriends."

"Now you sound like a teacher," Belle mused, turning to face her fully.

"No, dear," Mary corrected. "I sound like a mother."

"Hmmm," Belle voiced quietly, staring up at her intently. "So mommies sound like teachers?"

Mary closed her eyes briefly, her heart tightening as she remembered that Belle had no real memories from which to draw. Her eyes flitted to her own daughter, understanding their young kinship anew, one forged through the bond of a life-altering void.

"Sometimes," Mary affirmed, kneeling and stroking Belle's cheek, a new warmth stirring under her ribs. "Sometimes we do."

"Lots of times," Anna tossed in, making her mother laugh lightly.

"Alright, then," Mary agreed softly. "Lots of times."

"Do you like being a mommy?" Belle asked, biting her lower lip.

"More than anything," Mary answered, feeling Anna squeeze her arm as Matthew's daughter beamed back at her, the girl's expression so transparently complex. "It's the most amazing job in the world."

"What's your middle name?" Belle suddenly inquired, making Mary shake her head at the abrupt turn in questioning.

"Josephine," she stated, grinning at the incredulous look that met her reply. "Why?"

"You're my daddy's girlfriend," Belle stated reasonably. "I need to know these things."

"Fair enough," Mary returned. "What's yours?"

"It's almost as bad as yours," Belle observed, making Mary's eyes widen. "Margaret."

"Belle Margaret Crawley," Mary voiced, giving the name a twirl on her tongue. "I think that's a lovely name."

"I'm named after my grandmothers," Belle sighed with a shrug.

"You also share a name with a princess," Mary corrected, standing up straight. "And one of my favorite princesses, at that."

Belle smiled up at her, clearly pleased by that remark as she turned her attention to her friend.

"What's your middle name, Anna?"

"Blake," the girl answered, her ensuing smile effecting her mother more than the child could ever realize. "Anna Blake,"

Matthew stated, startling them all as they turned quickly to face him.

"What an excellent name."

Mary felt heat rush to her cheeks, feeling as though she had been caught in a lie.

"Thank you," Anna replied, staring at her toes. "Mommy picked it out."

"Your mother has exquisite taste, then," Matthew returned, and Mary watched as her daughter lit up internally under his praise. Just how much had her child missed without the presence of her father these many years?

"She does," Belle agreed, pulling Mary from her reverie. "But your middle name is the worst, Daddy."

"It is not," Matthew retaliated as he allowed Mary to take the drink holder from his grasp.

"Yes, it is," Belle giggled, making her father stop in his tracks as he stared down at two girls grinning up at him in expectation.

"Let's hear it, Crawley," Mary ordered, eyeing him with a gaze he wanted to unravel. "It's full disclosure night when it comes to middle names."

"Mrs. Gillingham's is Josephine," Belle exclaimed, taking her father's free hand, scrunching her nose.

"Josephine?" he mused, fighting back a smile without success. "I somehow thought it might be Elizabeth."

"Really?" Mary questioned, genuinely surprised by his guess.

"Ooo, Elizabeth is pretty," Anna put in. "I like that name."

"Me, too," Belle added with exuberance.

"So what would you guess mine to be?" Matthew asked. "And not a word from you, young lady," he added, raising his eyebrows in his daughter's direction.

"That's hardly a fair question," Mary rebuked. "It puts me on the spot when your daughter has just assured me that it is awful."

"It's only fair," he argued. "After all, I tried to guess yours."

"Oh, alright," she agreed with a sigh. "Bob?"

"Matthew Bob?" he echoed, drawing peals of laughter from the girls. "That sounds like a bad country singer, don't you think?"

"So you prefer something grander," Mary said. "How about Perseus, then?"

"That's a bit too grand," Matthew objected, shaking his head. "Can't guess something a little more normal?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Mary demanded, enjoying these antics as much as the children. "William? Robert? Thomas?"

"It's Reginald," Belle blurted out, unable to contain this nugget of information one more moment.

"You cheated," Matthew informed his daughter, playing along with a sideways smile.

"I'm afraid she's right. It is terrible," Mary teased, making both girls laugh as Matthew glared at them in mock severity.

"That was my father's name, I'll have you know," he defended, opening the door to the theater as they all stepped into the dimly lit room.

"Some names are best left with our ancestors," Mary remarked. "Such as Josephine."

"And Margaret," Belle added, making Anna laugh yet again. His accompanying chuckle warmed her further, and they slid into their seats, strategically allowing the girls to sit together.

"And Reginald, I take it," he murmured, his nearness making her shiver as he handed bags of popcorn to the girls.

"Especially Reginald," she hummed, the silken texture of her voice making him ache to kiss her.

"So, is Blake a family name?" Matthew asked innocuously, swallowing back the urge to behave most inappropriately in a movie theater, especially one filled with children. A hot pressure built up behind her cheeks, forcing her to look away as the air inexplicably thickened.

"Yes," Mary answered quietly, the slight tremor in her fingers catching his attention. "It is."

He gathered her hand within his, pulling on taught emotions stirring just under the surface. The intimacy of his gesture went deep, the sincerity of who he was sneaking into regions still tender from premature loss. She soaked in this sense of connection, understanding its significance, terrified of the possibility of losing it again.

"Then I would say Anna is lucky," Matthew observed gently, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. "To have an ancestor with such a stellar name."

Lucky.

There was so much her daughter didn't know, so much for her still to learn. Anna had a past just waiting for exploration, complicated and rich, painful in all its glorious luster, beautiful yet broken. But it was half of her person, spun gold woven into her DNA that made her the gift she truly was. The time of full disclosure was fast approaching. A time she both dreaded and embraced.

"Yes," Mary breathed, tightening her grip as she sought to steady herself in the midst of an onslaught of tumultuous feelings. "A lucky girl, indeed."


	9. Chapter 9

_He had run out of lullabies._

_"Shhh, my darling," he soothed, bouncing her restless form against his chest, stroking strawberry curls now matted to her head. "There, there, now."_

_A slobbery gnaw dampened his shoulder in an attempt to relieve inflamed gums. It seemed cruel that she was cutting two teeth at the same time, their insistence pestering her with more pain and irritation than a ten month old should have to bear. He sighed, feeling helpless as he knew there was little he could do other than hold and assure her. The stillness of early morning stared back at him through the nursery drapes, a damp, black nothingness only stubborn streetlights had the power to penetrate._

_If only something could cut through the darkness that had enveloped her mother._

_No more children._

_The doctor's words played in a continual mental loop as angry whimpers began to abate into his pajamas. Words that had stunned he had gradually accepted with relief, the terror of those hours after Belle's birth having been a continual backdrop in his subconscious every time he attempted to make love to his wife._

_No more children._

_The same words had cut her open, hollowing out her soul within seconds as he had watched eyes normally brimming with life gloss over. Their journey home had been silent, his attempt to reach her met with little more than a pained smile or tears that ripped what was hard to repair. He had assumed seeing their daughter would soothe newly inflicted wounds, would somehow bandage or stitch together what was gaping open inside her. Yet Belle's presence only seemed to remind Lavinia of what had been taken without her consent, launching her into a solitude for which he had been completely unprepared. These past few weeks had been a frozen hell._

_Belle shifted, turning her face into his neck, her small breaths warming his pulse. Sleeping? Or simply on the verge? Either felt like a hard-won victory he dared not risk by making any sudden moves. He continued to gaze through cold panes, enraptured by gray mists hovering over blacktop in the shape of restless ghosts._

_"Please," he whispered, sighing as his pitiful attempt at a prayer fogged the glass. Defeat and resolve warred silently within, lack of sleep playing havoc with his emotions as a dread he could not define hit hard. It was unfair that he was losing her when she was now physically strong. Was it a joke, his marriage a twisted punch line in a humorless farce of his life? Why couldn't he get through to the person he should know better than anyone? Why had she retreated in the first place? And how the hell did they move on from here?_

_A hand fisted in his collar went limp, and he breathed deeply, releasing physical tension at the knowledge that his daughter finally slept. She was his sanity, his joy, the one spark of life in an existence now suspended. He breathed her in, allowing her goodness to wrap up his soul. He had been unprepared for all she would bring with her—sleepless nights, deep anxiety, elation he couldn't explain, all driven by a fierce love that invaded every atom. Yet her mother was missing it._

_And these were moments she would never get back._

_The baby's warmth comforted chilled fingers, and he made his way slowly to her crib, pausing before he attempted to lay her down. He adjusted his grip, moving with the halting assurance of one who had performed this task many times and knew the perils faced with each encounter. She sighed into the mattress, pursing small lips before splayed limbs slackened. An exhale escaped him as he quietly adjusted the railing, covering her with her favorite blanket embroidered with her name. Belle Margaret Crawley. Lavinia had chosen it months before her birth, just as she had chosen every scrap of furniture and decoration that now adorned her nursery. How excited she had been, how eager to be a mother, how impatient to meet her firstborn. What they were now living wasn't how it was supposed to be._

_"Please," he dared again, closing his eyes in hopes that his plea might be received and answered. He then exited the room, trudging back to cool sheets to sleep alone with his wife._

* * *

 

"Belle and I really should be going."

Matthew's words caressed her forehead, and she nodded in agreement. Yet he leaned in closer, stroking his lips across her cheek, unleashing a tremble down her legs.

"I know," she returned, losing her fingers in his hair to ease him closer. "It is pretty late."

"I can't believe the girls are still awake," he grinned. God, the scent of her hair was driving him slowly mad.

"The movie revved them up nicely," she explained, the need to touch his face making her limbs quiver. "How they could be singing all the songs after just one viewing is beyond me."

They both shot hesitant looks at the clock, knowing bedtime had been bypassed some time ago.

"I could remove the batteries," he offered. His accompanying grin did something unsettling in her ribcage, setting off a domino-like reaction over which she had no control.

"That could be problematic," she quipped, raising a brow in his direction. "I turn into a pumpkin at midnight."

"A pumpkin?" he questioned with a chuckle. "Somehow I can only envision you morphing into something horribly elegant and slightly dangerous."

"Hmmm….like a she-wolf?" she inquired, eyes sparking in a dare.

"More like a vampire," he hummed, his voice tickling her spine. "Gorgeous, irresistible…"

"And out to suck your neck?" she cut in. Thank God he hadn't worn sweat pants.

"I thought you would never ask."

A hot chill clasped her backside as one finger slid down the side of his neck. She felt his heat radiate into her skin, a mutual want pushing them both to toss caution to the wind.

"Would you like me to leave a mark?"

He shuddered as her nose nudged skin she had just branded, feeling a sheen of sweat dot across his forehead.

"Just make sure it's concealable," he voiced as eyes closed of their own accord. "I don't want to have to explain it to my mother."

The giggles caught her unawares, and her head dropped to his shoulder, peals of laughter overtaking them both until she couldn't breathe.

"Or your daughter, for that matter," she finally managed, wiping her eyes. "Nothing gets past her."

"No," he agreed with a shaky sigh. "Unfortunately."

"She asked me if you were a good kisser, you know," Mary grinned as she caught her breath. She bit back another laugh as a flush quickly crawled up his neck.

"Oh, God," Matthew returned, rubbing the back of his neck. "What did you say?"

The flash in her expression made him more than a bit uneasy.

"That you were improving with every attempt," she teased, watching his brows get lost in his forehead.

"Improving, am I?" he quipped, backing her into the wall. "I haven't heard any complaints so far."

His nearness was intoxicating, his expression too endearing. Impulse took over, and hands swirled across his shoulders, into his scalp, tracing his form. Feathered strokes across his cheekbones made his body heat rapidly and breath come in snatches. He could get lost in her.

"I warned you I was picky," she retorted, nipping her lower lip in a manner that only enhanced her resemblance to her daughter.

"Says the woman who hides Skittles in her purse," he tossed back, loving the look of astonishment staring back at him. "Yes—you've been found out, you candy-monger."

"They're for Anna," she attempted, feeling his chuckle vibrate down to her toes.

"Nice try, Josephine."

Then eyes were locked, words were suspended, her position between the wall and his body keenly felt in a flash.

"Speaking of children, I think Anna's Barbie's must be putting on quite a show," she put in, his darkening expression rendering her somewhat breathless.

"They must be," he continued, rubbing his nose just south of her ear, his breath coaxing her closer with warm strokes across her jaw. "

We should really be careful," she tried, knowing her tone sounded anything but convincing. "The girls could come looking for us at any moment."

"We'll hear them coming," he assured her as the pad of his finger traced the v-neck of her blouse. "Besides, you started this."

"Me?" Humor vibrated from his chest to hers, fogging her mind at an alarming rate.

"Yes, you," he asserted. "No one can miss the popcorn bag as many times as you did tonight."

"It was dark," she voiced. "And you're the one who insisted on holding it between your legs."

"Are you insinuating that I had ulterior motives?" His attempt to keep a straight face elicited a coy grin from her.

"Let's just say you never offered to hold my Skittles."

"I'll hold your Skittles anytime you ask," he breathed, taking her hand in his own, bringing it slowly to his mouth. Her hips flexed in anticipation as his lips descended on one finger and then another, stirring up a deep fire inside her throbbing with reckless life. Then it was in his mouth, being suckled and savored by his tongue and teeth. A heated jolt hit her abdomen, spreading to her thighs instantaneously as her head sank back with an audible moan. The things this man did to her.

"The girls have gotten quiet," she murmured, forcing the words up her throat as she pressed her hips against him.

"What a shame," he breathed, moving his attentions to her palm, making her flutter in private regions. "Perhaps we should make some noise of our own."

"I already have."

Her whisper swept across his temple, halting his breath in his chest. She drew back just enough to toss him a grin, one he knew immediately signaled danger.

"I think it's your turn, now, Reginald." Hot lips made contact with his neck as immaculate nails teased their way up his torso. "Time to leave that mark."

"So my suspicions were correct," he stated, his tone dropping audibly. "You are a vampire."

"She-wolf," she corrected, nuzzling into his neck, feeling the shudder that rocked his torso. "At least under the right circumstances."

His veins were overheating, the blunt force of wanting her rendering him boldly unsteady.

"I'd enjoy hearing you howl."

She unraveled in a heap.

Faces met head-on as lips clashed in sheer need. It was a kiss new to both of them, raw desire brewed with layers of grief regenerating life through heated blood. He consumed her, she inhaled him, as tongues mated in the famished caverns of their mouths. His hands were in her hair, her fingers sneaked under his shirt, marking territory, exploring details, claiming fragments of shattered souls.

How could this be happening to her again?

What in God's name was this woman doing to him?

She craved him with a familiarity that frightened her, one that flew against promises whispered to herself in dark solitude. She was his adrenaline, his addiction, the thought of losing her making him kiss her harder as her flavor etched itself on senses now under her command. Emotions already well-engaged hurdled towards a bond both wanted. She couldn't let this go. He refused to break their connection. It was all just too much.

"Do you know how tempted I am to haul the girls to my mother's for the night?"

His words tickled her lips as he hovered close enough to taste.

"We'd be a bit too obvious, don't you think?"

"At this point, I don't care," he hummed, unleashing tingles that shimmied though intimate places. "Besides, I think she assumes we've already done this."

"You mean you mother thinks I seduced you on our first date," she breathed, gliding lips over the cleft of his chin. "When we partook of eggplant and olives."

"And those blasted seven veils," he murmured as his thumb skimmed across the swell of her breast, making her clasp onto him lest she loose her footing.

"Always handy to have around," she voiced, the husky edge of her tone acting as an undertow that threatened to drag him under.

"Even better to toss on the floor."

Oh dear God.

"We can't do this tonight, you know," she tried, arching her neck to grant him easier access. "The girls-"

"I can have the car warm in five minutes," he assured her as lips continually heated against delicate skin.

"What's gotten into you?' she half-laughed, half-moaned. He mouth stilled and he drew back just far enough to look at her directly.

"You," he confessed, swallowing hard. "Just you."

She couldn't breathe.

Foreheads touched as breaths intermingled freely. She nudged her nose against his, savoring this touch, feeling much more than she could yet speak.

"Matthew." It was his name, his hands, his smile sparking a light in shady ground. This man, with laughing eyes that now bore inside with a wanting that shook her—this was good. It was glorious, in fact, rocking her to her toes as she whispered soft lips across his.

It was she—yes she, who carried the missing pieces to the puzzle of his life. She was the one who fueled uncharted territory, blazing trails of discovery to places he never knew he was missing. He loved her. In a matter of weeks, he had fallen ridiculously in love with her. How in God's name had this happened so fast?

One nip then another, lips stroked with the promise of more. He lavished her upper lip, she tugged on his lower, the mating of mouths and hands demonstrating desire that ran deep. A noise she couldn't identify clawed out her chest, and she held on for dear life, savoring sensations she had all but forgotten. He was burning in a manner he had never known.

Fast footfalls in their direction snapped them apart in an instant, and they both stood panting, adjusting clothing as fast as they could. Giggles arrived before the girls themselves, their parents turning to face them with expressions too guilty to miss.

"What's wrong, Daddy?"

Saucer like eyes stared up at him, two little mouths gaping open at something that made him nervous.

"Nothing," he answered, trying to catch his breath. "Why do you ask?"

"Because your face is all red," Belle stated as she pointed in emphasis. "And you have red stuff on your neck and mouth."

He shot Mary a look of alarm, and she stepped towards him quickly, wiping lipstick from his skin as best she could.

"Your hair's a mess, Mommy," Anna observed, prompting her mother to tuck it carelessly behind one ear as she drew a steadying breath.

"It was windy outside, you know," Mary returned, the smoothness of her tone taking him by surprise.

"No it wasn't," Anna protested, earning herself a look of reprimand. Matthew stared back at her helplessly.

"Have you two been kissing?"

Belle's question elicited huge grins from both children as their parents stole glances at each other, knowing they had been caught and having no idea what to say.

"That's really none of your business, Belle," Matthew stated firmly, unnerved by the twittering giggles that met his response.

"It's okay with us if you were," his daughter continued matter-of-factly. "How else are you going to make a baby?"

His jaw fell open. Mary nearly choked.

"What?" Matthew stammered. He stared as his child as if she had grown antlers, his tongue too numb for speech.

"Isn't that how grown-ups have babies?" Belle asked innocently. "By kissing?"

"N-not exactly," Matthew managed, his face even brighter than it had been seconds ago.

"But you have to kiss to get a baby," she tried again, her face scrunching in confusion. "Right?"

"Well—" Matthew began, casting Mary a plea for help from over his shoulder. "Usually. But—"

"Are you having a baby, Mommy?" Anna asked with an excitement that rocked her mother's insides. Matthew shook his head in disbelief.

"No," Mary got out between coughs, still recovering from Belle's earlier remark. "No, sweetheart. I'm not having a baby."

"But maybe later?" Belle asked. The eagerness gazing back at her was almost too much.

"We've already had this discussion," Matthew interrupted, kneeling down until he was eye to eye with his daughter. "I thought you understood that it was still too soon for Mrs. Gillingham and me to think about having another child."

"I did," Belle admitted. "But it looked like you might have changed your mind."

Her heard a breathy chuckle behind him and had to fight down the urge to laugh himself.

"Not within a few hours, munchkin," Matthew grinned, rubbing his chin.

"But you might change your mind later?" Anna's soft voice caught everyone's attention, and Matthew gave Mary a deliberate stare that said this one was hers. She squared her shoulders in response.

"You never know," Mary answered, moving forward to take her daughter's hands. "The future holds so many possibilities. I'm certainly not against the thought of having other children, but it's not going to happen right now."

"If you do someday, can we name her Elizabeth?"

Mary touched the side of her daughter's face, smiling at how her child's question was spoken as if it were of no more consequence than naming a new doll. If only life could be as simple as Anna and Belle made it out to be.

"Only if it's a girl," Belle interjected before Mary could formulate an answer.

"I know," Anna sighed, placing a hand on her hip. "But who'd want a boy?"

Mary cast Matthew a look he answered with a shrug and a grin. One hand flew to her forehead as the other rested unthinkingly on her stomach, instigating the oddest flutter in the corner of his ribs. What she had looked like pregnant, he suddenly wondered? How she had felt? Had she been sick throughout the duration, or was she one of those women who claimed they had never felt better than when her child grew within the swells her body? Had her delivery been complicated or straightforward?

What if they had a baby?

The mere idea of her carrying his child did something to him that made him feel taller and breathless at the same time. He stared at her, unable to stop himself from imagining, from wondering… From hoping? What was wrong with him? Hadn't he just told his daughter that it was much too soon to even consider such a thing? Hadn't he almost lost one woman to the peril of giving birth, only to lose her three years later to a drunk driver?

"Can we at least let them move in?"

A tug on his sleeve drew him back to the present as his daughter continued to fight for her cause. Blue eyes pleaded with a ferocity he half feared, and he was both touched and frustrated by her dogged determination.

"What did I say earlier?" he questioned, the softness of his expression belying the firmness of his tone.

"Something about knowing each other better," Belle admitted, her lip sticking out further than seemed humanly possible.

"And do you think that has changed?"

"But, Daddy…"

"Belle?" His look silenced her protest as her head flopped down to chest.

"No," she mumbled, shuffling her feet. He ruffled her hair, eliciting a long yawn from his daughter.

"Smart girl," he affirmed.

"Now go and get your shoes on. It's time for us to leave."

"Already? I'm not even tired," Belle protested as her companion rubbed sleepy eyes.

"Now, Belle Margaret," he instructed, watching her pout grow in strength at the mention of her middle name. The pair exited much slower than they had entered, looking somewhat crestfallen as they trudged towards Anna's play room.

"God, I'm sorry," he began, running fingers through hair already mussed from other activities. "I never thought that she would, I mean, to ask while you're here…"

Muted laughter shook her body, cutting him off as the spell became infectious. "

So she asked about this earlier?" Mary questioned, trying to regain her composure even as her lips twitched in rebellion.

"Before the movie," he confessed, shaking his head yet again. "She wants the two of you to move in with us, just in case you missed that part."

"No," she grinned. "I couldn't miss that. Belle is about as subtle as your mother." He chuckled in absolute agreement.

"And Anna has already learned how to use her eyebrows to her full advantage," he tossed back. "I can't imagine who taught her how to do that."

"Do you think we sit around and practice?" Her arms crossed her chest as she gave him a look he wanted to bottle.

"I am certain of it."

"Why Matthew Crawley," she mused. "The things you have accused me of tonight."

He moved directly to her ear, his voice the texture of warm leather.

"If you mean copping feels and biting my neck, I am happy to give you ample opportunity so I can justifiably accuse you again." He felt the noise in her throat.

"Watch it," she warned with a smile. "We've already been caught once. The girls will think we're having twins if they see us like this again."

"God, you're right," he sighed. "I'm still half-tempted to take those little instigators to my mother's, you know."

"Bad idea," Mary cautioned. "Can you imagine the conversation the three of them would have?"

His stomach dropped with a small thud.

"You're right," he stated. "We'd be screwed for certain."

"In more ways than one."

Her eyes were still heated, making him shiver in the wrong places. A very cold shower was decidedly in order when he got home, he decided, knowing that even that wouldn't put out what burned for this woman. His lips touched down lightly on hers, pulling on too many cords at once, threatening to start an unquenchable cycle all over again.

"My inner she-wolf is getting restless," she purred, smiling as his ears brightened.

"I think I left restless behind after our first date."

"What is this now?" she questioned softly. "Date number six?"

"Seven," he corrected. "Not that I'm counting."

"Perish the thought." Her eyes rounded playfully making him want to kiss her again.

"Although technically, half of them have been family dates," he put forward, the tilt of his head making him look rather boyish.

"Rather fitting, I suppose," she observed, leaning in closer.

"Yes," he returned. "But at times a bit crowded." They held and stared in silence, absorbing the intangible into pores warmed internally.

"So," he continued, swallowing hard. "You're not opposed to having other children?"

She inhaled deeply, squeezing his hand.

"To be honest, I hadn't thought much about it," she admitted. "Anna was completely unexpected, and after I lost her father, I—" She paused, staring back at him with wounds he understood. "I just never believed I would want to have a child with anyone else."

He moistened dry lips with a tongue that felt rather thick.

"So Tony was surprised when he found out you were pregnant?" She closed her eyes, remembering the sickened pallor of Tony's expression as all was revealed, hearing the catch in his voice as he sought the means to speak what had to be said.

"To say he was shocked would be an understatement," she confessed, her eyes clouding briefly. "Horrified would be more accurate."

Her admission didn't fit with what she had told him of Anna's father.

"But he adjusted nicely, I take it," he put forth. "After the initial surprise?"

Surprise? God—parts of that day were still a nauseating blur.

"He couldn't have been more thoughtful," she voiced shakily, knowing she couldn't avoid that black hole in her life for much longer.

"I nearly lost Lavinia when Belle was born." His confession struck her soundly, and she held his face, looking back at him with a concern that drew her out of herself. "I convinced myself that I was perfectly content with one child, that having another wasn't worth the risk. But now…" His voice trailed off into her, making her heart hammer against sensitized ribs.

"But now," she echoed, stroking the top of his hand with her thumb as his breath thickened. "Aren't we the complicated pair?"

He chuckled, stroking her hair.

"We certainly carry more than our fair share of baggage, don't we?"

"Mine alone could fill a storage building," she returned, eliciting a kiss from him to her forehead.

"Should I stack mine on the roof?" he asked, too caught up in something he could still not properly define. Silence greeted him head-on as dark eyes fell to the floor.

"Maybe it's time I start unpacking."

He sensed something behind her words, something left unspoken now suddenly between them, something she carried with her just under her skin. Something she now wanted to share.

"Daddy?"

She smiled ruefully at the interruption, leaving him curious as they turning towards their daughters with fingers still interlocked.

"Do we really have to leave?"

God, he didn't want to—not now. Perhaps not ever.

"Yes," he sighed, letting go of Mary's hand with reluctance. "It is high time we did."

A yawn greeted his reply as small arms reached up in an understood plea. He moved across the room and scooped Belle up to his chest, looking back to see Anna holding her mother's leg, her lids as droopy as his daughters. He already missed the feel of her, the slight tickle of her hair against his nose, the way she fit into him as if by design. She yearned for him to stay, knowing this was special, crafted from threads of glossed silver too rare to refuse. Smiles spoke what they couldn't in front of their children, and he waved a wordless good-bye as she clutched Anna closer.

"Pumpkins," Mary observed quietly, their eyes holding each other for one final breath.

"Pumpkins," he agreed with that lop-sided grin, carrying his child out her front door with a mind much too full of the unknown for sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle's sixth birthday leads to a heartfelt conversation between Mary and the girls as well as Mary and Matthew.

_Hands stroked her back, lulling spent senses already warmed by all of him. Lips pressed to his torso, her mind still half-drugged, her limbs hopelessly tangled within his. A hum of contentment tickled the side of her cheek, and she turned to look up at him, swept up in dark, hooded eyes, lost to this man who had taken her by storm._

_"What are you thinking?" she asked, a contented grin sliding towards her ear. He gathered her hand within his own, stroking each finger, pressing a kiss to their tips._

_"Just how lucky I am," he answered, flashing her a look she couldn't read. "I don't deserve you, Mary, and I know it."_

_She slid up his body, touching his mouth with her finger before claiming it with her lips._

_"That's enough of that," she returned, nuzzling his nose. "Where is this coming from?"_

_He rolled to his side, losing fingers in her hair as he cleared his throat. "From a man who realizes just what he has and doesn't want to risk losing it."_

_A chill bit her toes, and she fought back an unidentified fear even as her heart swelled at his words. The past few months with him had been a whirlwind of emotion, a leap of faith into territory she had never truly explored. She needed him with a ferocity that frightened her, craved him to the point of pain. She loved him with everything she had and then some._

_"You don't need to worry about losing me," she assured him. "I'm not going anywhere." He kissed her forehead with a tenderness she felt to her knees._

_"You'd better not," he whispered, the honesty of his tone resonating in deep places. "I'm not sure what I'd do if you did."_

_She drew his bottom lip into her mouth, sucking gently, eliciting a moan from him that made her grin._

_"Does that convince you?" she queried, touching his lazy smile with her own. "I can repeat myself if necessary."_

_"By all means," he instructed, leaning down to grant her easier access. The taste of him left her wanting, needing, clinging to limbs already spent yet waking again. "Why do you put up with me, Mary?" he asked raggedly, searching into her for answers as their lips drew apart. "A woman like you could have any man she wanted. What in God' s name are you doing here with me?"_

_She exhaled into his shoulder, stroking the lines on his face._

_"If you don't know what we're doing, I'm not going to tell you." His chuckle drew her closer in, and she nipped his ear lobe, earning herself a kiss that plundered both sense and thought._

_"I'm not sure how to properly define what happens in this bed," he crooned, rolling them over gently until she was beneath him "All I know is I never want it to end."_

_"I don't either," she admitted, leaving unsaid words she half-feared granting a voice. "You make me happy everywhere."_

_"You make me happy here." His hand rested on his heart briefly before he dipped his head to her chest, feathering a kiss over her rib cage where her heart dwelled. "I love you, Mary. Too much, sometimes."_

_She was breathless, reeling, whirling in a sea of glorious unreality, clasping to this man she needed like air._

_"Me, too," she managed, watching his eyes widen in appreciation. "I love you, too, Charles."_

_His smile nearly undid her, and she knew how much it meant for him to hear words that shook her to voice._

_"I'm so glad," he returned with a shake of his head. "I'm not certain just why you do, but I'll take it and be thankful."_

_"We're good for each other. Let's just accept it and enjoy."_

_His grin tickled her insides, and he whispered his finger around her nipple, making her arch against him anew. Rich brown held her a willing hostage, and she gazed into a realm of possibilities she wanted to explore._

_"I want to do more than just accept it, Mary. I want to live it every day. With you."_

_Oh God. She pushed herself up on her elbows, looking back at him in wonder, swallowing her own pulse._

_"Just what are you trying to say?"_

_The words spilled from her nervously, her chin quivering, her body now fully alert._

_"I'm saying I want to spend my life with you," he breathed, the sincerity of his tone pulling on strings she never knew existed. "I want to wake up with you every morning, go to bed with you every night. I want to have babies with you, watch them grow up, go to Little League games and ballet recitals with you by my side. I want to take our family to Disney World, to play Santa every year, to listen to you complain about gray hairs when mine already outnumber yours." He kissed the tip of her nose, staring into eyes as wide as he had ever seen them, swallowing hard. "I want to be your husband, Mary," he stated huskily. "I want you to be my wife."_

_His gaze engulfed every muscle, every nerve, each heart beat pounding in the depth of what he had just confessed to her._

_"Marry me?"_

_She was nodding as she frantically sought her voice, her face lighting up as it finally emerged. "Yes!" she replied emphatically, feeling her response in her fingertips. "Yes, Charles. I'll marry you."_

_The rolled nearly to the end of the bed, a bundle of giggles and sound, of touch and kisses._

_"When can we do this?" he asked, grinning into her with the eagerness of a boy._

_"Well, we'll need a few months at least to plan," she put in. "My mother would kill us if we ran off together."_

_"Then pick a date," he returned. "I don't want to drag this out any longer than necessary." A league of butterflies sped up her legs._

_"My," she hummed. "Aren't we the eager beaver?"_

_"Yes," he replied. "I don't want to waste any more of my life. I don't want to miss a moment of what we can have together, Mary. Not a single damn second of it."_

_There it was again, an unknown sense of foreboding in the pit of her stomach. She shook it off with deliberation. Feelings such as those had no place in her life when she had just gotten engaged. None whatsoever. He moved off of her, padding to his jacket discarded in the corner and removing a small box from its pocket. She sat up, holding the sheet to her chest for reasons unknown to her, pulling her knees under her body in dizzying anticipation. He then sat on the bed across from her, the sheet falling from trembling fingers she knew were well beyond control._

_"So you'll have me?" he beckoned, opening the lid to reveal a perfect oval diamond set in sapphires. Her jaw fell of its own accord, tears pricking the corners of her eyes._

_"Yes, you silly man," she managed, feeling wetness on her cheek as the ring was placed on her finger. "I'll have you. I already told you once!"_

_His lips stroked hers with the promise of forever, sealing a new bond she was still trying to absorb._

_"I never meant to propose naked," he mused quietly, rubbing the back of his neck as his face reddened, widening her delicious grin._

_"I suggest we leave that part out when our children are old enough to ask how we got engaged," she retorted with a flick of her brow, further conversation halted as her mouth was suddenly occupied by other activities._

* * *

 

"Well, that was quite the party." Matthew leaned back against the refrigerator, puffing his cheeks as he exhaled, wishing he could just melt into his recliner for the next several hours. "Thanks to you," he returned, reaching out for her hand and stroking it fondly. "I'm not certain I could have pulled off all of this princess frivolity on my own."

"It's not that difficult," she mused, cocking a brow in his direction. "Just stock up on pink, purple, and everything that sparkles." "I think I have a headache from all of the sparkles, actually," he grinned, rubbing his forehead.

"I'd blame it on all of the squealing that accompanies a house full of five and six year old girls," Mary tossed back, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his cheek. "Both girls should sleep soundly tonight."

"I may beat Belle to bed," he laughed, tugging her a bit closer until bodies just touched.

"Careful, Crawley," she hummed in return. "You're showing your age."

"You be careful, Gillingham," he teased in a low, private tone. "I might be tempted to prove my stamina."

Just then he yawned, making her laugh audibly.

"Another time, old man," she purred, enjoying the slight flash of danger fired her way. "We still have presents to open, remember?"

He threw the dish towel over his shoulder, and she rolled her eyes as it landed on top of the refrigerator.

"Nice aim," she mused. "I hope you're more accurate with other targets."

"Wouldn't you like to know," he grinned, walking by her back into the living room, tossing her a look she couldn't' miss over his shoulder. "What are you two monkeys doing?" he asked as he took a spot on the couch.

"Playing with my new _Ever-After High_ dolls," Belle returned with enthusiasm.

"Wait—I thought they were _Monster High_ dolls," Matthew stated.

"Those are different, Daddy," Belle shot back with a giggle, Anna laughing along with her.

"Showing your age again," Mary quipped under her breath as she sat down beside him.

"Now wait just a minute," he replied. "You're practically the same age as I am."

"Yes," she agreed. "But I know the difference between Raven Queen and Draculaura. Get your toys straight, Crawley."

"Is that a request or a challenge?"

Isobel cleared her throat loudly, prompting Mary to toss him a look of warning. He wiggled his brows at her with a lazy grin, making her want to laugh and pounce on him simultaneously.

"I believe we still have some gifts yet to open," Isobel cut in, giving her son the look that used to make his blood freeze. "Here's one from me, Belle."

The girl jumped up immediately, clapping her hands at the festively wrapped box.

"What is it?" Belle asked, accepting the package with near reverence.

"Open it and see," Isobel instructed, her expression sparkling with almost as much excitement as her granddaughter's. The child tore through the paper, revealing a silver gift box that made her eyes widen.

"It's taped," Belle sighed, stretching it towards the adults in a plea for help.

"Here," Mary offered, sliding her thumbnail through the binding before handing the gift back to the child. "Now try."

"So that's what those long nails are for," Matthew murmured just over her neck.

"Among other things," Mary whispered back, keeping her eyes on Isobel lest they be overheard.

"Such as…" he breathed, making her spine shiver all the way down.

"Use your imagination," she shot back, never taking her eyes off Belle.

"Whatever you say, Draculaura."

"That's Raven Queen to you."

God, her neck felt hot.

"It's a music box!" Belle cried out, examining the porcelain structure in awe. "Isn't it?" "Yes, my darling," Isobel answered. "Open the lid and see what happens."

Belle pried to top off delicately, revealing a petite ballerina twirling in time to the Waltz from Tchaikovsky's _Swan Lake_.

"Wow," Anna exclaimed, her grin almost matching Belle's in size. "She's beautiful."

"I'm glad you think so, my dear," Isobel returned with a wink. "I have a little something for you, as well."

Mary and Anna gasped in unison, staring at Mrs. Crawley in a silent stupor.

"For me?" Anna questioned, looking back to her mother who quietly shrugged in response.

"I didn't want her to feel left out," Isobel clarified, pulling another box out of her satchel. "And I know Anna's birthday isn't until July." "That's a long way off, Mommy," Anna agreed, looking to her mother for permission to accept Isobel's gift.

"That it is," Matthew added, drawing her gaze. "July is practically an eternity away."

Mary nodded slowly, her face still frozen in amazement as her daughter began to open the surprise. She suddenly missed her own mother, now living overseas in the London townhouse her father had purchased two years before his death. They communicated online, via Skype and Facebook, but Anna rarely received this physical interaction, this depth of connection that she had already established with Matthew's mother. God…if something happened…if this didn't work out…

She couldn't complete the mere thought. It hurt too much to entertain.

"Look!" Anna beamed, turning to show her new Ballerina Barbie to Mary with shining eyes. "She looks like me. Thank you Mrs. Crawley."

"You're welcome, my dear," the older woman returned, hugging the child with a familiarity that filled Mary's chest.

"I'm so glad you like her."

"Let's see, Anna," Belle requested, smiling as the girls gleefully compared presents.

"Thank you, Isobel," Mary stated, shakily looking at the woman in blatant gratitude. "That wasn't necessary, you know."

"I think it was," Mrs. Crawley returned. "Anna is a precious girl, Mary. You've done a lovely job raising her."

Lips trembled, and she bit back emotion threatening to overtake her in front of everyone. She felt Matthew's hand on her back, grounding her, calming her, filling her so completely it nearly knocked her unsteady.

"What about our present to Belle, Mommy?" Her daughter's question cut through her fog, pulling her back to the surface with a hasty smile.

"Yes," Mary replied, shaking her head in a search for clarity. "Here you go, Belle. We hope you like it."

The girl eyed the gift bag excitedly, pulling out tissue and tossing it frantically aside.

"What are these?" Belle asked in confusion, holding up a set of small papers bound together with a pink ribbon.

"Tickets," Mary replied. "For all of us. Anna and I thought we might enjoy a night out to see _The Nutcracker_ in a couple of weeks."

"You mean the ballet?" Belle questioned, her mouth hanging open.

"Yes, sweetheart, the ballet," Mary answered, feeling Matthew reach out to squeeze her hand.

"God, she'll love that," he whispered.

"I thought she might," she replied softly. "I know Anna has been begging to go."

"There's more," Anna jumped in, reaching into the bag herself. "Look."

The girl held out a pink envelope, bouncing as she waited for her friend to take it from her. Belle tore it open, staring at lavender piece of paper, her lips moving silently as she tried to sound out words still too difficult for her read.

"We're getting our nails done," Anna explained, wiggling her fingers as Belle started to jump up and down. "All four of us."

"Me, too?" Matthew teased, making both girls laugh exaggeratedly. "How lovely. What color should I choose?"

"No, Daddy!" Belle insisted with a comical stamp of her foot. "Only the girls get to go. Boys don't paint their nails."

"I was considering a sparkling pink," he mused to Mary straight-faced. "Don't you think it will suit me?"

"I think you should make a statement, darling," she returned slyly. "Be bold. Go for red."

"Red?" Belle squealed, nearly doubled-over. "Don't be silly, Mommy."

All sound ceased immediately, air sucked from the room as the child froze in place, her expression crumbling at the realization of what had slipped from her mouth. She darted from the room, bringing the adults to their feet immediately as Matthew began to follow his daughter.

"Wait," Mary stated, grabbing his arm. "Let me go. Please."

He stared into her a fraction of a moment, nodding his silent assent. She moved with purpose, her stride deliberate as she made her way to Belle's bedroom. Her pulse fluttered even as she steadied her mind, stopping to catch her breath before rounding the corner. What she saw made her knees unsteady.

The girl was sitting with her face towards the wall, face buried in her hands, shoulders slumped. The very sight of her tugged on Mary's heart-strings with such ferocity she feared they might snap. Yes, she had lost loved ones, more than her fair share, but never as a child. Two parents had raised her, had marked her progress in school, had attended every choir concert, every dance recital, every graduation from Kindergarten through college. But Belle and Anna... Her eyes closed at the injustice of it all.

She made her way to the child's side, sitting down beside her, wrapping her arm securely around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry." Belle's whisper hit her soundly as she drew her close, pulling her into her ribs with the fervor of a mother.

"There's no reason to be," Mary assured the girl. "You did nothing wrong."

"Then why did everybody stare at me like that?" Belle asked, daring a look up at Mary.

"We were just surprised, that's all," she answered matter-of-factly. "Nobody is upset with you, Belle. I promise."

"Not even Daddy? Not even you?"

"Not even your Daddy," Mary responded with a small smile. "And especially not me."

She stroked strawberry waves, gazing into blue eyes in need of much more than she had realized. Belle wrapped small arms about her waist, burying her face into Mary's side.

"I thought Daddy might be mad," she sniffed, her words muffled. "He tells me about my real mommy, but I don't remember her."

"That's not your fault," Mary soothed, tilting Belle's chin up towards her. "She died when you were very young. No one expects you to remember her."

"But I feel like I should," Belle returned, her brows creased. "I have pictures."

"Pictures are wonderful, and one day you'll really appreciate them," Mary explained softly. "But they're not the same as memories."

They sat together in silence, gazing out the window at an overcast sky.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Belle whispered, rubbing her sleeve across damp cheeks.

"Of course," Mary replied with a wink. "I'm good at keeping secrets."

That finally elicited a grin, and Belle sat up taller, adjusting her body so she was looking at Mary directly.

"Sometimes I pretend that you're my mommy."

Oh, God. Humility, fear, adoration, uncertainty—they swirled together in a jumble Mary couldn't quite unravel. Her chest tightened, and she swallowed past the lump in her throat, gathering the little girl into her arms and setting her squarely on her lap.

"I'm very flattered, Belle," she managed, trying to steady her voice. "Any woman would be proud to be your mother."

"You don't think that's bad?" Belle asked, the uncertainty of her expression pinching taught emotions. "That I do that?"

"No, not at all," Mary insisted, sitting up taller. "You don't remember your mother, but it's very natural for you to want one. I'm dating your father, and you and I are together quite a bit. It's logical for you to feel this way."

"Daddy tells me she loved me a lot," Belle confided softly. "And I try to love her, I really do. But it's not like I love Daddy or Grandmother."

"Of course not," Mary agreed, stroking her hair gently. "How could it be? They are here with you, and your mother is more like a lovely dream. It is normal for your feelings to be stronger for your father and grandmother than they are for her."

"How do you know that?" How indeed?

"Because it makes sense," Mary assured her with authority. "Your mother may not be here with you, but she exists in your heart and your imagination. And nothing can ever take that away from you, Belle, even if you don't remember her. Nor will it ever change how much she loved you."

"You promise?" She hugged the child with the same intensity she hugged her own, feeling remarkably like Belle's mother in a way that shook her.

"Yes. I promise."

"Is it the same for my Daddy?"

Her daughter's voice grabbed her attention, and she looked toward the doorway where the child stood. Tears tugged at her eyelashes as she beckoned Anna forward, pulling her onto her other knee, snuggling both girls close.

"Yes, it is the same for your daddy," Mary breathed raggedly, kissing the top of Anna's head. "He loved you so much, Anna, even before you were born."

"You mean when I was in your tummy?"

"Yes," Mary smiled. "When you were in my tummy."

"Did you get really fat?" Belle questioned, making Mary laugh audibly.

"Yes. Horribly. I looked like a whale."

Both girls giggled, pressing into her tighter, unleashing a swell of warmth she felt to her toes.

"Did he tell you so?" Anna asked. Her heart constricted yet again.

"Many times," Mary assured her, stroking her arm. "I wish you could have seen his face when I told him he was going to be a father."

"Was he excited?" Anna beamed, biting her lower lip in anticipation.

"He was thrilled," Mary answered, the image of that moment forever ingrained her mind. "I honestly don't think he could have been any happier than he was at that moment." Her head drifted back with her thoughts, visualizing the ridiculous stupor that quickly morphed into a whoop of joy before she was twirled about in midair. "He was convinced you were a girl from the beginning, you know."

"Really?" Anna asked, scrunching her nose.

"Really," Mary returned.

"Daddy said my mommy was happy when she found out I was a girl," Belle added, all traces of embarrassment now gone.

"Of course she was," Mary put in. "And I'm sure your father was, too. Who wouldn't be thrilled to find out they were having a precious baby girl?"

"I was ecstatic, actually."

There he stood in the door frame, smiling at the three of them with a look that stilled Mary's breath.

"May I join you, or is this meeting for girls only?"

"We're not doing our nails, so you should be safe," Mary returned quietly, feeling him, sensing him, needing him in ways just daring to blossom once more. His gaze held hers with an intensity that burned, filling places still empty, triggering emotions buried deep.

"So you're not mad, Daddy?"

His chest nearly exploded at the sight before him, his daughter's expression, her grip on Mary's shirt, how natural the three of them looked huddled together on the floor.

"No, sweetheart," he answered immediately. "I'm not mad. Not at all."

She hopped up and ran to him, grabbing his leg until he whisked her up to his chest. They clung together, father and daughter, so blindingly beautiful that Mary had to look away. Belle slid back down to the floor, running back to hug Mary's neck before grabbing Anna's hand.

"Come on, Anna," she beckoned. "You want to go play with our dolls?"

"Sure," Anna replied, jumping up immediately as she scampered behind Belle out the door.

They had been left alone.

He walked quietly towards her, hands in his pockets, a mixed expression on his face. He plopped down across from her and took her hand, pulling on her insides through this slight touch.

"Thank you," he began, choking back emotion not easily held back. "I'm not certain exactly what you said to her, but whatever it was, it seems to have worked."

She shrugged in silence, finding words difficult with so much laid bare.

"How much did you hear?"

His eyes glued on hers, and she knew he had caught the discrepancy in her stories.

"I arrived just after Anna did," he confessed, trailing a thumb over her knuckles. Yes. He had heard. Her hands began to tremble. "It was wonderful how you assured them of their parent's love, of how excited they were before the girls were even born." He swallowed audibly, eyes sheening over as his chin began to quiver. "I've tried so hard to communicate to Belle how much Lavinia loved her, how much she meant to her, but I suppose that's difficult for a five year old to understand."

"Six year old," Mary corrected softly, making him chuckle through tears.

"Six year old," he echoed, capturing her gaze yet again. "It may take me a while to get used to that. I hope all of this didn't make you feel too awkward."

"No," she whispered, trembling internally at the enormity of what she must tell him, of what she could lose, of what she now knew she wanted forever. "Believe me, Belle felt much worse about it than I did."

"Our girls are strong, you know. Stronger than we think they are."

His words hit home, finding a place still tender with the truth he voiced. It was time—for all of them. God give her strength.

"Matthew…we need to talk. Sometime very soon." The words left her in a rush, and he did not flinch at their impact.

"I wondered," he smiled, kissing the top of her hand in slow deliberation. "Things you've said, things you've inferred…" He paused, staring at hands joined before clearing his throat. "There are things you haven't told me, aren't there? About Tony." He paused, scooting in closer, staring into her soul. "And about Anna's father."

Her heart hammered audibly in her ears, heat flooding her face as tears broke free unbidden. He knew. He had filled in the blanks. And he was just waiting for the details.

"Yes," she whispered, dropping her gaze, afraid of shattering into pieces as his arms encircled her completely. She clung to him with all she had, dampening his shoulder as he breathed into her hair. They remained bound for several seconds, knowing they couldn't stay like this much longer as the squeals of their children invaded the silence.

"Whatever it is, I'm ready to hear it," he assured her tenderly as she drew back. His thumb stroked her cheek, and she nodded into his palm, needing to believe every syllable he uttered, afraid of what would happen if he pushed her away. "Whenever you're ready to tell me." He now possessed partial truths to an incomplete puzzle, knowing she held the missing pieces yet giving her space to breathe.

"I don't deserve you, Matthew."

His face creased in consternation, and he took her chin in his fingers.

"God," he declared. "We'll have none of that." He pushed air from his lungs, leaning back from her slightly. "Don't you think there are parts of my past I still have a hard time talking about? We're adults, Mary. We've lived. We've been hurt. And we've both made our fair share of mistakes." He raked his fingers across his scalp before dropping his hands to his lap. "If anything, I don't deserve you."

She stretched forward, placing her hands on either side of him on the floor, planting a soft kiss across his mouth she drank into her bloodstream.

"Soon," she managed, attempting to reassemble her broken composure in the privacy of this moment, absorbing everything about him that she could. "I promise, Matthew. I'll tell you everything soon." 


	11. Chapter 11

"So what was his name again? The shorter partner with the receding hairline?"

Her low murmur against his ear made her question almost indiscernible, and he had to force his eyes from her nearly bare shoulder, the thin black strap leaving little to his imagination.

"Barkley," he managed, swallowing with effort. "Roland Barkley."

She nodded twice, studying the gentleman briefly before returning her gaze directly to his.

"I don't like him," she observed, leaning in close so as to not be overheard. "He stares too much."

Matthew had noticed the same thing, wanting to punch the man squarely in the jaw for the carnal way in which he visually devoured her, knowing his tenure with this firm would be over the moment contact was made.

"I agree," he whispered, guiding her away from the man in question with his hand on her back—her partially bare back—wondering the entire journey how he was going to keep half of the room from ogling her in that dress that gently teased at being classy lingerie. Dear God, he couldn't stop ogling her himself. She had been concerned over his first reaction to her choice of attire, his slack-jawed expression and lack of verbal ability making her worry if she had somehow lost all sense of fashion. But when she had offered to change into something more sensible, he had softly grasped her arm and drawn her close. "Don't you dare," he had whispered hoarsely, the swirling indigo of his eyes nearly buckling her knees on the spot.

She had left the dress alone.

They were the first ones seated at their table, and she looked around the room in curiosity, her brow creasing further the more she observed.

"Why is everyone staring at us, Matthew?" she questioned, the genuine concern on her face palpable.

"God, Mary," he began, shaking his head ruefully. "You look amazing in that dress, and…" 

"No, no, not like that," she clarified, leaning in closer. "I mean they're looking at me as if I've sprouted wings or something."

"Oh," he murmured, dropping his gaze to his plate as his face reddened decidedly. "They're curious, I suspect. I'm really not comfortable at cooperate events like this, and I haven't attended any social functions with a woman since…" His voice drifted off, his eyes finally returning to hers. "Well, since…"

"Since Lavinia died," she finished for him, accepting his slow nod as her chest constricted slightly. "You didn't have to bring me tonight, you know."

"I wanted to bring you," he insisted, reaching across the table to stroke her hand. "I just hadn't realized how openly people would gawk."

"So it would seem I'm currently under inspection," she observed, daring a glance around the room's perimeter. "I certainly hope I pass."

He licked his lips self-consciously, the sincerity in his gaze hitching her breath.

"How could you not?"

A slow shiver waltzed up her spine.

They joined in the applause as the band ended their number, and she shot a quick look over her shoulder towards the stage as a ballad was struck up.

"What is it?" he questioned, perplexed as her entire body went suddenly rigid.

"This song," she whispered, her eyes nearly owl-like as they finally looked back to him. "I used to love it. It was—" She cut herself off, grasping her glass of water as if it were a lifeline, taking a rather large sip. "We danced to it once—at that wedding reception I told you about."

"You and Anna's father?" he asked, knowing the answer before her nod affirmed it.

"Yes," she whispered, attempting a smile that didn't fool him for a minute. He watched her in concern as her color continued to fade, taking a deep breath as before tossing back a sip of his own water.

"Come on," he ordered softly, standing rather quickly. "Let's get some fresh air."

"But we've just been seated," she protested, already rising to her feet as he steered her towards the doorway.

"I don't care," he returned, rather alarmed by the chill of her skin. "You need a drink, and I'm already tired of being the evening's key point of interest."

She offered no further protest, allowing him to guide her through a maze of unknown faces directly to a small cash bar.

"Here you are," he offered, maneuvering the pair of them into a corner, drinks in hand. "An appletini to cure whatever ails you."

"That's a rather tall order for any drink," she mused, enjoying the mild burn trailing behind the sweetness down her throat. "I may need two."

"Well I did drive tonight, so have as many as you want," he teased, his lopsided grin unknotting a ball of tension in her stomach as the alcohol warmed her limbs.

"Why, Matthew Crawley," she stated, lifting a brow precariously. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Of course not," he insisted, his act of being affronted dissolving immediately into a guilty grin. "Well, maybe slightly drunk."

"I should warn you now," she began, never breaking eye contact as she took another sip. "I can get a little out of hand."

"Stop tempting me," he teased, feeling a tingle unrelated to alcohol seep through his veins. "That dress of yours has weakened my will-power decidedly. Now you've been warned."

A flirtatious grin crept continually upward, dancing across reddened lips that left an attractive print on the rim of her glass.

"And I was afraid you didn't like it," she teased, watching the tips of his ears become an attractive shade of pink.

"Like doesn't even begin to describe my feelings for that dress," he answered, leaning in closer to smell her perfume.

"Hmmm, is that so?" she questioned, a sense of daring spurring her on. "So how exactly would you describe them? Your feelings, I mean."

"For your dress?" he breathed, suddenly oblivious to the fact that there were other people in the room with them.

"Yes," she clarified, gazing into him with hooded eyes. "For my dress."

A heated charge magnetized them together, their bodies communicating in an unspoken manner quite detached from conscious reason.

"Well," he began, loosening his collar reflexively. "I'll start by saying that it captured my attention from the first time I laid eyes on it."

"Really?" she put in, toying with her string of pearls unconsciously. "I had no idea its effect was so powerful."

"I was taken by surprise by the strength of its allure, to be honest," he confessed, the bashful grin on his face contrasting with the bold nearness of his stance. "I've never really been one to let sheer emotion and physical attraction dictate my actions. But it took my breath away as it is simply the most striking and elegant dress I have ever seen. It somehow manages to be both classy and sensual, a combination I have found to be completely irresistible."

"Sensual? Irresistible?" she queried softly, taking a leisurely sip of her drink in an attempt to slow her pulse. "Perhaps I should limit my alcohol intake."

"Perhaps we both should," he admitted, an attractive blush once again spreading across his neck. "I honestly don't know how much self-discipline I have left."

A rhythmic thudding in her temples was making it difficult to breathe.

"That bad, is it?" she dared huskily, unable to draw her eyes away from him, one hand coming to rest lightly on his sleeve.

"Worse," he replied, the driving urge to pull her into his arms nearly making him shake.

"Shall I summon my inner she-wolf?" she hummed, feeling her heartbeat everywhere.

"God, yes," he managed as a sheen of perspiration dotted his forehead.

"Even if she leaves claw marks?" she teased, biting her lower lip.

"Especially if she leaves claw marks," he mumbled, all of him burning to kiss her hard.

"It's a good thing I got that manicure today," she grinned sumptuously. "I'd hate to draw blood."

"You can draw whatever you want on me."

His whisper caressed her ear, his mouth just nipping her lobe, and she clasped onto his arms to prevent herself from staggering backwards.

"I didn't know you were such an appreciator of art," she managed, standing way too close.

"I'd like to  appreciate you. Every inch of you."

Breathing was almost impossible now.

"Appreciate me?" She felt her chin tremble in time with her hands.

"Everything about you," he expounded. "Your lines, your form, your materials and textures." He paused to swallow, tracing the outline of her shoulder with the pad of his finger. "Your planes and curves," he breathed roughly, craving her with a force that nearly rendered him speechless. "Your peaks and valleys, dry regions and wet."

She was now nearly mad with need.

"You make me sound like a landscape," she voiced, her tone raw and primal.

"You are," he returned. "One I want to study in detail."

They stared at each other wordlessly, mouths inching closer as his breath tickled her cheek. Her skin was alight, his every nerve at attention, mutual want radiating palpably between them.

"It's over there, you two," an overly-loud voice interrupted, forcing them step back from each other in haste.

"What's that?" Matthew managed, raking his fingers across his scalp as he turned to identify the intruder.

"Over there, Crawley," the man repeated, emphasizing a doorway which led to the exit. "The mistletoe." The man raised his eyebrows suggestively, tossing Mary an appreciative grin as he added in a loud whisper, "There's also a _Marriott_ nearby if you don't mind a quick stroll around the corner. Nice rooms, or so I'm told."

Her gaze fell to the floor at the mention of the hotel, her cheeks suddenly blazing, and Matthew thanked God silently that she missed the bastard's exaggerated wink as he left them in favor of the party.

"I'm sorry, Mary," he stammered, shaking his head in an attempt to clear lingering fog.

"It isn't your fault," she returned, smoothing her dress as she sought to regain a fraction of composure.

"I'm sure I own a decent portion of the responsibility," he insisted, taking her hand gently, summoning her eyes back to his. "Besides, Frank isn't exactly known for being mannerly. Or discreet, for that matter."

"Even better," she returned sharply. "Now all of your co-workers will think that I'm nothing but a tart trying to lure you into my boudoir."

"They will think no such thing," he insisted, his brows creasing together. "I promise. Although," he continued, a hint of mischief returning to his lips, "I wouldn't protest too loudly if you were."

"I'm not so certain it's your protest that would be too loud," she replied, tossing her brows at him suggestively. "In my boudoir, that is."

"Why Mary Gillingham," he returned. "What are you suggesting?"

"You know very well, Matthew Crawley," she answered smoothly, toying with his tie. "But I take no responsibility for the words that are leaving my mouth at the moment."

"So I should pay no attention to the things you say?" he teased, leaning in yet again.

"Pay attention, by all means," she retorted. "But blame the dress."

"It is the dress," he agreed with a shrug, the quirk of his grin melting her limbs. "I told you it reduced my will-power to nothing."

She clasped her hand around his, grinning into eyes spellbound by her own.

"Come on, then," she ordered softly, ushering him away from their corner in the direction Frank had indicated.

"Where are we going?" he questioned, falling in step beside her, making no effort to slow her pace.

"You heard the man, Crawley," she smirked over her shoulder, the flash in her eyes nearly making him combust on the spot. "The mistletoe is over there."

"Yes, but," he began quietly, giving her arm a slight tug. "We could just leave, you know."

She stopped mid-stride, turning to stare at him, her mouth gaping open.

"We haven't even eaten yet," she observed, feeling the heat of him inch closer and closer.

"We could pick up some Greek food," he returned, nestling her into a hidden corner. "On our way. For some reason I'm craving olives like mad."

She swallowed audibly, wanting what he suggested, fighting down an unexpected shyness.

"On our way to your place?" she whispered, trembling internally.

"Or yours," he returned, his voice caressing every sense at once. "I have my gym bag in the trunk."

Her cheeks flushed hot as they moved into the shadows.

"Did you plan this?" she questioned, toying with his collar, pushing down a lump in her throat.

"No, actually," he admitted, dropping his eyes. "But…" A lopsided smile warmed her all over. "But I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to bring it along."

Her breasts ached through her dress, and she stared into eyes that made her feel cherished, that made her feel whole, that made her want in ways that burned to her core.

"Won't your colleagues talk?" she asked, licking her lips as his face hovered just above hers, her lungs suddenly tight.

"They're already talking," he observed with a shrug, nudging her nose with his. "We might as well give them something to talk about."

His mouth devoured her smile, and she grabbed his lapels, pulling him as close as their surroundings would allow. Lips feasted on each other, tasting of wine, screaming of need. She suddenly felt empowered, adored, and ready to take on new adventures with this man who held her like he meant it. This man who held her like he loved her.

"Let's get out of here," she whispered, catching her breath, her knees quaking at the almost bashful grin gazing back at her.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Hands linked, something new solidifying between them, something that left them both breathless and light. They slid into the night's chill, moving closer to ward off the wind, giggling like teenagers trying not to get caught.

"Why, look over there," she mused as she clicked her seat-belt in place. "You can see the _Marriot_."

His chuckle warmed her further, and he raised her hand to his mouth.

"Would you prefer to go there?" he questioned, feeling his pulse race at the very thought of it. "They'll have room service, you know."

"No," she answered softly. "I didn't pack a toothbrush or underwear."

He turned to face her directly, stroking her knuckles with his thumb.

"I'm hoping you won't need the underwear," he grinned, feeling his ears heat instantaneously. "And I'm certain the hotel can provide you with a toothbrush."

She leaned into him, brushing her lips across his before drawing his lower lip into her mouth. Her fingers wove into his hair, and she pulled him closer, kissing him deeply with an intimate ache.

"I'd actually like to take you home," she admitted, holding his face as his breath continued to warm her. "This is much more than a fling in a hotel for me."

Something beautiful unfurled in her ribs, cascading through every vein, every sense as he touched his nose to hers.

"For me, too," he breathed, feeling a primal protectiveness reach out to envelop her, to assure her, to let her know what had been simmering inside him for weeks. "I've fallen in love with you, Mary."

It hit her hard and fast, the knowledge that this was right, that this was good, that this was something never to be taken for granted or tossed aside. She pulled him to her, kissing him fiercely, pouring every emotion she possessed into her mouth and hands, touching, stroking, tasting, accepting, offering him every part of herself in a manner she had only done with one other.

And at that moment, she knew Charles would approve.

"Me, too," she managed, her admission echoing into his neck, rocking him backwards with its impact. "Me, too."

Eyes locked and held, fastened to the others's in the intimacy of his car. He leaned over and touched his lips to her forehead, cradling her head in one palm while the other held her hand. Things had shifted fundamentally, the air full of unspoken emotion settling into their pores.

"Your place, I take it," he managed, his voice somehow maneuvering through his thickened larynx.

"If that's alright with you," she breathed, stroking the side of his face, not wanting to break physical contact for even a minute.

"It's perfect," he responded with a grin that hit her hard. Every touch was electric, every breath charged. She felt him all over, even though they were both still fully dressed. She shut her eyes and took it all in—what she had feared would never happen for her ever again, what she would hold on to with everything she had.

God—was he walking in a dream? This woman—this amazing woman—was with him, had chosen him, wanted to be with him. He still couldn't make sense of it all, reluctant to let go of her lest she vanish into thin air. The engine hummed to life, instigating a silence full of anticipation. Hands remained linked, and he expertly maneuvered them through traffic until they reached a small restaurant tucked away in a corner. It was odd how obvious she felt as they walked under a glowing sign that flashed _The Athenian_ , wondering if anyone who cared to look at them would know exactly what they were planning. She stifled back a giggle as she squeezed his hand, watching his cheeks flush in time with her own.

"God, I feel like I'm seventeen," he admitted under his breath. "Like I'm sneaking out with my girlfriend behind my mother's back."

"I wouldn't be surprised to see her and the girls spying on us from behind menus," Mary mused with a grin, giving the small restaurant a quick once-over.

"Miss Marple strikes again," he returned.

"This time with reinforcements."

"Our own pint-sized Nancy Drews," she tossed back as they stepped up to the counter to place their order. "And they would be comparing notes, you know."

"They may be already," he returned with a shrug. "After all, the three of them are together at mother's for the entire night. God only knows what conversation is taking place."

"Oh, God," Mary exhaled. "Isobel will be convinced I'm pregnant by the time the girls are though with her."

His chuckle reverberated into her arm.

"If my phone starts vibrating off the hook, we'll know those monkeys have accomplished their mission." He smiled down at her, soaking in the spark that flashed in her eyes. "Do you know what you want?" he asked. "For dinner, that is."

"I trust you," she teased, stroking the inside of his palm with her thumbnail, enjoying his reaction immensely. "You know what I like."

"In some things," he murmured. "But I'm looking forward to being educated in others."

"I'm guessing you're a fast learner," she theorized, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead.

"Only when I'm motivated." Her ligaments hummed a note higher.

"Perhaps we should get a sampler platter," she suggested. "Try a little bit of everything tonight."

"Feeling adventurous are we?" he questioned, leaning into her neck.

"Just call me Indiana Jones," she quipped, biting her tongue as he proceeded to place their order.

"Dare I hope you have a bull whip?" he questioned as they moved to a bench to wait.

"I thought it was your job to provide one of those."

His chuckle made her toes tingle.

"I prefer to call it a light saber," he shot back quietly, working hard to keep a straight face. She laughed under her breath, relaxing her head on his shoulder.

"As long as you don't growl like a Wookie," she grinned, watching his cheeks turn beet red just as their number was called.

Could traffic not move any faster, he wondered as his body continued to run circles around his patience, his car inching along one road after another? He heard her exhale when they finally turned on her street, felt her squeeze his hand as her driveway came into view, sensed a moment's hesitation as he switched off the ignition.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently, unfastening his seat belt and shifting until he faced her. She nodded in response, cradling his face in her hands as her lips brushed over his.

"I'm more than alright," she hummed. "But I won't pretend I'm not a little nervous."

"So am I," he admitted with a grin. "It's been a long time since I…" He paused again, swallowing hard. "Since I've been with a woman," he finished, taking her hands within his own.

"Has there been anyone since Lavinia?" she questioned, sensing his unease, watching his reaction carefully.

"No," he confessed, pressing his lips together. "I'm not exactly a Casanova, Mary. God, I hope I don't disappoint you."

Her eyes widened in alarm, and she practically crawled onto his lap, crushing his mouth under hers, stroking his palate with her tongue.

"They'll be no more talk like that," she insisted as they drew apart, her tone brokering no disagreement. "I'm not interested in a wild night of sex with a polished ladies' man, Matthew. I want you. All of you."

He tugged her mouth back to his, drinking her in, making her shiver all over as she clasped him tightly.

"Besides," she panted, pulling back just far enough to look at him. "I'd say it's been even longer for me."

His brow creased in thought, and he tilted his head slightly, never ceasing to stroke her hair.

"No one since Tony?"

She licked lips already missing his, holding his gaze fast.

"No," she answered. "No one since Tony."

He exhaled through his smile, enchanted by her shy one peeking back at him.

"Can I tell you how strange it felt to actually go and buy condoms?" he chuckled, ravaging his scalp as she laughed in return. "I honestly don't remember the last time I did that. I kept trying to hide my face from the security cameras, for God's sake, as if anyone besides me cared what I was doing."

"And when did you go on this nefarious shopping spree?" she goaded, poking him lightly in the ribs.

"A month ago," he admitted sheepishly.

"So you've been walking around with a wallet full of rubbers for a month and didn't bother to tell me?"

Her incredulous expression melted almost instantly, replaced by a cackle he wished he could bottle.

"What's so funny?" he asked, poking her back. Her mischievous expression reminded him of Belle, but the turn of her countenance was all Anna.

"I went back on the pill," she confessed with a gaze at her lap. "Just over a month ago."

He laughed easily along with her.

"Aren't we the pair?" he put forth, feeling his body shift yet again.

"Aren't we, though?" Lips barely touched, fingers lightly skimmed, something beyond speech rolling over them with force. "Do you want to go in?" she offered just above his mouth.

"Yest," he replied. "Before my legs fall asleep."

"Don't knock it, Crawley," she purred dangerously. "That may be the only sleep you get tonight."

"Thank God," he exclaimed, claiming her lips one more time before hopping out of the car.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Matthew consummate their relationship.

**November 28—Six Years Ago:**

_"Are you sure?"_

_He stared at her slack-jawed, brown eyes rounder than she had ever seen them._

_"One hundred percent sure," she answered, feeling the wobble in her voice, watching his face intently. "Both the home test and the doctor's office confirmed it."_

_She unconsciously held her breath as he began to pace back and forth._

_"How long?" he questioned, his expression making her wonder if he was truly in shock. "I mean, when…when are you…when is…"_

_"July," she cut in, touching her abdomen, the fact that life had taken root just under her palm still hard for her to believe. "I'm due in July."_

_"July," he echoed, biting his lower lip, nodding his head. "My dad's birthday is in July."_

_She still couldn't read him, and it was making her more nervous than she thought possible._

_"It's a good month, then," she offered, trying to ignore the knots in her stomach. "I know this must come as a shock for you, Charles. It took me off-guard, as well, but…"_

_He touched his fingers to her lips, quieting her rambling, his gaze sinking into her soul. They stood immobile, wrapped up in a moment somehow beyond them, breaths intermingling as they had so often before. She watched as he shook his head in amazement, blowing out a puff of air just before his face erupted into the biggest grin she had ever seen._

_"My God, Mary," he breathed, cupping her face before kissing her soundly. Her mind was spinning at the suddenness of his embrace, but her arms responded immediately, clasping on to him with all she had, returning the kiss with a new kind of passion._

_"So you're alright with this?" she gushed as they caught their breath, trying not to get caught up in this whirlwind until she was certain of his reaction. His chuckle warmed her insides, the moist sheen in his eyes answering her without a word._

_"Alright?" he finally stammered, his expression almost comical. "We're having a baby, Mary. I'm so happy I could burst!"_

* * *

 

_"Get her into surgery—now."_

_The doctor's voice hollowed out his insides, an eerie numbness making him feel detached from his body as they wheeled her from the room. This was supposed to be the happiest day of his life, but it had turned on him so quickly that his mind couldn't keep up with what was happening. His hopes, his dreams, his expectations, all had burst in a surreal moment when the promise of new life had been threatened by something he couldn't even entertain._

_"Mr. Crawley," a voice beckoned, barely registering as it echoed in his head. "Mr. Crawley. You'll need to wait here."_

_He shook his head decisively, trying to rid it of a suffocating fog as he stared back at the labor and delivery nurse._

_"I need to be with her," he argued, still piecing everything together. "She's my wife. She needs me."_

_Tunnel vision encased him, and he realized with an odd sort of detachment that he couldn't feel his fingers._

_"You can't come with her now," the nurse insisted, touching his arm. "We're taking her in for an emergency C-section. Do you understand what that means?" His head nodded automatically as his gaze traveled over the nurse's shoulder, traipsing down the long corridor into which his wife had just disappeared. He pushed the woman aside, his pace accelerating as he tried to catch up to Lavinia, to their unborn child, to the doctors and nurses who were taking her away from him._

_"Mr. Crawley," the nurse insisted, racing to him and grabbing his elbow. "You're not allowed in surgery. I'm sorry."_

_"But…but you don't understand," he protested, something inside of him breaking. "She's my wife, that's our baby, and they're in danger, I have…" His chin betrayed him, trembling nonsensically as he tried to formulate words that made sense. "I have to take care of them."_

_The nurse looked at him intently, and he couldn't help but wonder how many times she had uttered the words he was trying to block out._

_"There's nothing you can do for them. I'm sorry." It was spoken with a gentle insistence, with a squeeze to his arm as her face mirrored his own distress. "You have to let us help them now," she continued, and he knew this was an argument he couldn't win. He—an attorney—one accustomed to winning—yet he couldn't help his own wife and child.The reality was too harsh, too sudden, but there it was, staring him in the face, freezing the very blood in his veins._

_"Will they be alright?" he questioned, needing an answer he somehow knew she couldn't give him._

_"We'll do everything we can for them," she stated, holding his gaze solidly before releasing his arm._

_"Everything you can," he echoed hollowly, retreating into a place he had never been, whispering the words yet again, as if repeating them would somehow make a difference._

_"Yes," she assured him, scooping what hope he had left out of his soul. "Everything we can."_

_Her expression told him everything, and he felt his life turn to ash in his palm. And with that, she was gone._

* * *

 

_His expression told her everything, and she felt renewed hope spring to life in her veins. He whooped as he scooped her up, twirling her around in a circle, kissing her soundly when he came to a stop._

_"A baby," he repeated, as if saying it over and over would help it settle in. "A baby. We're having a baby." His joy was infections, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing into his shoulder as she felt his heart-beat through his chest. "God…July," he continued, finally setting her down. "That's still how many months away?"_

_"Seven and a half," she stated with a grin. "We're due in mid-July, somewhere around the 15th."_

_"Then we'll need to go to the beach for our honeymoon," he reasoned, his arms pulling her back into him. "Since there's no chance we'll be able to go this summer."_

_"I don't think travelling while eight months pregnant or with a newborn would be a very good idea," she agreed, feeling all of her tension begin to melt away. "I'm so glad you're happy about this, Charles."_

_He looked at her as if she had just spoken in Arabic._

_"Why wouldn't I be happy?" he questioned, cupping her still-flat stomach with his hand. "You're carrying my child, my son or my daughter." He paused, taking her hand, tracing her engagement ring with his own. "I'm marrying the woman I love, and we're having a baby together. I'd say I'm the luckiest man on the planet." He stared at her abdomen, rubbing where their child secretly rested and grew._

_"What is it?" she asked, the tenderness in his eyes nearly buckling her knees._

_"It's a girl, I think."_

_His voice was no more than a whisper, his tone low and reverent. He looked into her with more love than she could fathom, feathering a kiss to her cheek she felt all over._

_"What makes you think so?" she questioned, feeling no inclination one way or another at this early stage in her pregnancy._

_"I have no idea," he admitted, smiling from ear to ear. "It's just a feeling—a really strong feeling that hit me the moment I touched your stomach."_

_She gazed at him intently, shivers dancing up her legs as she tried to decide whether he was teasing or not. He wasn't._

_"You could be wrong, you know," she breathed, losing her fingers in the thickness of his hair. "We could be having a boy."_

_"I suppose," he shrugged. "And I will be thrilled if we have a son one day." He paused to take her in, laying a lingering kiss on to her forehead as he cradled his family in his arms. "But not this baby," he stated with an assurance she couldn't understand. "Trust me, Mary. This baby is a girl."_

* * *

 

_"It's a girl, Mr. Crawley."_

_He raised his face from his hands, looking up at the same nurse with whom he had argued. How long had he been sitting here? Minutes? Hours? Days? Time had ceased to matter as his entire life was reduced to a blur._

_"Did you hear me, Mr. Crawley?" the nurse repeated. "Your baby has arrived. You have a healthy baby girl."_

_They had known for months that their child was a daughter, but hearing it here—knowing she was alive, breathing, outside her mother's womb…_

_"And my wife?" The words scratched his throat like sandpaper._

_"She's still in surgery." The words thudded against him, bruising every organ, stinging every nerve._

_"Will she…" He broke off, unable to give voice to his biggest fear._

_"I don't know," she answered honestly, kneeling down to face him at eye level. "She's lost a lot of blood, but the doctors are doing everything they can to save her."_

_He nodded, beyond the point of tears, drowning in a realm of grays and blacks._

_"Everything they can," he repeated, physically blocking what the words really meant._

_"Would you like to see your daughter, Mr. Crawley? I can take you to her if you like."_

_God—his daughter, his only child, his one living link to the woman whose life now hung by a fraying thread. He had nearly forgotten his new baby when her life had only just begun. He couldn't do that—not now—not ever._

_"Yes," he whispered, unable to stop trembling. "Please. I need to see her."_

_Perhaps he could do nothing for Lavinia, but he could do this. He could name their baby, he could hold her in his arms, he could tell her of her mother while soothing her cries into his chest. He could be a father. He could love his daughter with everything he had._

_And there was no need to wait any longer._

* * *

 

**The First Saturday in December: Present Day**

It was impossible to wait any longer.

Kisses began on the front steps, light caresses laden with excitement but heavy in anticipation, gentle touches through coats as mingled breaths heated frosted air. They paused long enough to open the front door, spilling into the house haphazardly, giggling like children before crashing into each other again. Mouths were panting by this time, rubbing wildly, tongues pushing in, already engaging in a tango that quickly spread to their hands. She traced his chest, her nails tickling through fabric, making his shudder in places that surprised him. He drew patterns on her hips, targeting her core with tingles that spread everywhere. Shoes were kicked off, jackets tossed aside, the food dropped on to the table as planes and curves were stroked and sampled with an eagerness they could no longer contain.

"What about dinner?" she managed into his cheek as his tongue teased her ear, making her insides curl up deliciously.

"I think we should have dessert first," he breathed, his face already hot with need. "Unless you'd rather…"

"No," she interrupted breathlessly before sliding his lower lip between her teeth. "Dessert first sounds perfect. Perfect."

Further words were lost, tongues put to other uses in a rather heated conversation that continually increased in volume. They were flat against each other, his hand sneaking up her scalp to bunch into hair, her fingertips pressing into is back in an attempt to move in even closer. Hot fingers slid one strap off her shoulder, and his mouth touched down gently, almost reverently, eliciting a moan from her as his teeth grazed bare skin.

"You're better than Greek food," he mused, drawing out a throaty chuckle as her head fell back. "I think I could feast on you all night."

"So you're a hungry boy?" she observed, barely getting the words out as she tensed in pleasure.

"Famished," he whispered, tugging down the other strap, tracing circles on the newly bared shoulder with the tip of his finger. His lips then dotted a rambling route across her chest, pausing to dwell at the pulse point of her neck, making her legs nearly give out. "You seem to have a healthy appetite, too," he grinned, completely aroused by the little noises vibrating in her throat.

"Ravenous," she moaned as his mouth encased her shoulder. She drug his face back to hers, her tongue dancing over his upper lip, making him pant, making him sweat. "She-wolf, remember?"

"Have I mentioned how much I love your canine-like tendencies?" he murmured as his finger traced the edge of her dress. Her nipples hardened instantly, her toes curling under her feet.

"My bite is worse than my bark," she warned, nipping his neck, making him shudder all the way down.

"So you keep saying," he teased onto her lips, nudging her nose with his own.

"Are you doubting me?" she smiled, tweaking her brows as her hands traveled down his back.

"I'm an attorney," he explained as he leisurely rubbed his thumb across the swells of her breast. "I need concrete evidence before presenting a case."

One of her hands slid quickly around to his front, making him hiss as she traced his form.

"Feels fairly concrete to me," she mused, barely getting the words out of her mouth before her back hit the wall. A thrill sped up her legs as his hands went everywhere, this heady exploration pushing her need to the surface and prompting her to follow suit. She made quick work of his buttons, grinning appreciatively as he ripped off his tie and tossed it carelessly in the air. His shirt slid easily down his arms, allowing her attentions to drift to his pants, releasing the belt buckle rather quickly but having more difficulty with the clasp.

"It's stubborn," she noted, his arousal only growing with each and every one of her attempts.

"Not as stubborn as I am," he returned, unfastening it himself before reclaiming her mouth greedily. The pants were smoothed down his thighs at a pace that he thought might kill him, the feel of her nails grazing bare flesh nearly making him combust on the spot. He kicked them the rest of the way off, smiling along with her chuckle at his obvious eagerness.

"In a hurry?" she asked lethargically, working her mouth across his jaw at an achingly slow tempo, stopping to graze her teeth over his chin.

"I'm afraid I might explode any second," he managed through his thickened larynx, moaning as her tongue tickled the cleft of his chin. He pulled her lips back to his, devouring her with gusto, claiming every crevice of her mouth. Her leg snaked around his thigh, and he drew back to catch his breath, sweat breaking out across his forehead. "God, Mary," he breathed, the sound of her name on his lips making her crave him even more. His mouth marked her neck, blazing a trail towards her back as his hands went on a search.

"Zipper's in the back," she instructed, turning around to grant him easy access. She trembled as his knuckles stroked her spine, closing her eyes until all progress came to a halt. "Is there a problem?" she questioned, anxious to be rid of the dress and to feel him in a way she never had.

"It's stuck," he mumbled, trying to tug it down with extra force. "I don't want to tear up this dress, but I'm starting to get desperate." He tried several more times without success, sighing in a frustration as he swore under his breath.

"Here," she stated, reaching back in an attempt to undo it herself. "Hold the top ends together while I give it a try."

His fingers brushed her bare back as he complied with her instructions, but the zipper wouldn't give, and she was tempted to tell him to tear the blasted dress off her body and get it over with.

"Damn," she cursed as it continually refused to budge. "Augh! Get this thing off of me!"

Warm laughter teased her rib cage as his arms encircled her from the back, skimming over her stomach before toying with her breasts.

"Now who's in a hurry?" he murmured just behind her ear, the heat from his breath and mouth making her knees buckle. His fingers clasped down on her nipples, making her ache like crazy as her hips ground into his.

"Unless you slipped a banana into your boxers, I'm betting we both are," she shot back, biting her lower lip as he continued to pinch and tease through the fabric, unable to keep herself from crying out.

"Let's try this from another angle," he suggested, his hands moving daringly lower, making her catch her breath.

"We haven't made it past the first angle yet," she observed, eliciting an outright laugh as he his head dropped to her shoulder. It was infectious, maddeningly infectious, and they dissolved into hysterics until both were wiping tears from their eyes. She turned in his arms, burying her face into his t-shirt, feeling his chest rumble with each additional burst of laughter. "Not exactly a scene from a romance novel," she giggled, his reddened cheeks making him all the more attractive.

"I don't think any romance novel I've ever seen has had a hero wearing an undershirt and boxers on its cover," he mused, making her laugh all over again.

"No," she agreed, trying to catch her breath. "You are a bit overdressed if you want to grace the front of a Harlequin."

He cocked an eyebrow at her playfully, adoring her giggle as he growled and smirked in her direction.

"I think I can remedy that," he stated, whipping off his t-shirt in an instant before tossing it over his head.

"Very nice," she hummed, unable to keep her hands from roaming across this new expanse just in front of her. "You may give Fabio a run for his money."

"Fabio wishes he had my physique," he teased, nearly losing it all over again as she actually snorted. "Please don't tell anyone you laughed like that when I took off my shirt."

She nearly fell into him, cackling until her sides hurt, making him love her all the more.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she finally assured him, her eyes still sparkling with laughter, her nose brushing up to his. "Perish the thought."

His hands swiped down in a flash, catching the hem of her dress and tugging it quickly over her head much to her surprise. Her eyes widened in shock as he gazed at her in satisfaction, taking her in, forcing himself to swallow.

Oh dear God. She stood clad only in a black lace strapless bra and panties that looked uncannily as though they had been designed to match her dress. His mouth hinged open, and he feared his eyes were bulging out of their sockets. Just breathe, he reminded himself—in and out, slow and steady.

"Well, that's one way to skin a cat," she mused, feeling inexplicably shy as his gaze devoured every inch of her.

"I have great plans for your skin," he whispered, dropping to his knees in front of her, hearing her breath catch in her throat. She gasped as his lips feathered just above her naval, and she clasped onto his head, sinking her fingers into his scalp to keep herself upright. His mouth continued its slow dance around her stomach, sliding to the right then daringly down, his breath hovering just above the rim of her panties, making her pulse, making her ache. His hands cupped her bottom, pulling her closer as he kissed the spot he marked, lingering just a moment before moving up the other side.

"Matthew," she breathed, coming undone thread by thread, melting at the feel of him smiling into her abdomen. He kissed her once more before standing and taking her hand, looking into her soul with a sincerity that shook her.

"I love you, you know," he stated as his thumb stroked the side of her face. She leaned into his touch, into him, clasping on to this new life given to her out of the ashes of her past.

"Thank God," she managed, suddenly overwhelmed by it all. Her hands trembled as she cupped his cheek, and she touched her forehead to his, wanting him, needing him, loving him. His kiss was achingly tender, making her feel treasured in a way she had all but forgotten. Something about him let her know she was safe, sheltered, encased by something bigger than herself, and she wanted to share all of who she was with this man who had brought her back to life.

This man who had enabled her to love again.

Hot hands sketched his need on to her mid-back, releasing the clasp of her bra, freeing her body to his gaze and his touch.

"You're breath-taking," he whispered, further speech deserting him as they stood chest to chest. This was new yet already comfortable, thrilling and soothing, raw and revealing. His thumb made first contact, skimming over her nipple, making her harden into his touch. She shook as caresses turned into clasps, as his ministrations encompassed both breasts, and her head fell back, lost to unleashed sensations coursing everywhere at once. Then his mouth dipped down, claiming her, tasting her, his teeth grazing her nipple in a manner that made her cry out.

"Please," she exclaimed, practically jerking his face back to hers, kissing him with a ferocity that nearly knocked him over. Her tongue lit him on fire, and he considered taking her against the wall, his body trembling with feverish want.

"Mary," he whispered as her hands rubbed his bottom, as her mouth sampled his chest, as blackened eyes bore into him hard. He felt her everywhere, every nerve tuned into her, every piece of him wanting to be inside of her immediately. She was throbbing as he bent to suckle her yet again, and she bit her lower lip, her body so ready for him, her soul already his. They stumbled into her bedroom, and she worked his boxers down quickly, smiling into his lips when he kicked them to the side. "Ah-ah-ah," he teased, dodging just before she could grasp on to him, tossing her a grin that made her burn.

"This is no time to play games," she gasped, reaching out in another attempt, laughing throatily as he jumped out of her way.

"Maybe not," he grinned, his eyes darker than she had ever seen them. "But it is time to level the playing field. After all, I'm naked…and you're not."

She swallowed in anticipation. He knelt before her again, sliding her panties down open palmed, kissing his way down her legs until she thought she would crumble into dust.

"You play dirty, Crawley," she voiced, her tone deepening with unsuppressed need, her insides hopelessly knotted.

"Would you prefer I play clean?" he asked, tugging her underwear off of one foot then the next, daring to plant a wet kiss just above her ankle. "God, no," she replied, reaching for the bedpost to steady herself as his chuckle resonated everywhere. He eased his way back up, a hand tracing one leg, his mouth feasting on the other. Her body was nearly bucking already, noises coming out of her she could not control, pulses aching and burning where she craved him the most. His touch finally obliged her, skimming the edge of her core, making her yell as her legs faltered, as his grip held her upright.

The feel of her nearly sent him over the edge, and he couldn't stop touching her, stroking her, every quake of her body urging him on.

"Matthew," she cried, unraveling at a frantic pace, digging her nails into his shoulders, her body tugging her into the depths of a vortex.

"I want to see you," he murmured dark and heavy in her ear. She could only nod, only feel, only succumb to what he was doing to her as he backed her up gently. Then they were on the bed, bodies rubbing together, hands learning, mouths receiving, legs falling open without reservation. The sight of her made him tight, made him ravenous, and whole in a way that felt like home. Her hand sought his length, guiding him to her with an urgency they shared.

"Should I get…" he began, silenced by her mouth.

"We're covered," she smiled, stroking him until he couldn't think, until his head was spinning, until his mind was numb.

"I may not last long," he admitted, nearly coming apart at the feel of her hand.

"That makes two of us," she hummed, kissing him desperately while guiding him into position. His fingers traced the sheen on her skin, and he inhaled the scent of sex, aching to enter her depths, anxious to fill her completely. Breaths hitched at first contact, bodies throbbing, eyes open, not wanting to miss what they both knew would somehow change everything, what had already changed so much. He slid inside her, and she raised up to meet him, accepting all of him, body and soul, her friend and now lover. He held himself still for a moment, absorbing the warmth that was her, cherishing her, kissing her face with feelings too deep to voice.

This was Mary…this was Matthew…this was here and now…their present…their future…their life.

They began to rock together, moving gently, then eagerly, mutually seeking what was coming on fast and hard, both clasping on to the other as the first shards began to splinter. She knew it was coming and shut her eyes tight, flexing and moving, biting skin and tasting sweat. It crashed into her with force, sending her over, pulling her in deeper, wracking every inch of her with shudder after shudder of blinding ecstasy.

"Oh, God," he muttered, burying his face in her neck, hot air on her flesh making her shake all the more. His pace became more erratic, his thrusts more pronounced, and then he was moaning, quivering, diving into her over and over as his release came on strong. She held him to her breast, stroking his hair, kissing his temple as he filled her in a new way, accepting all of him without reservation. Then movement ceased, and he half-collapsed on top of her, caressing her lips with the leisure of bodies spent.

Breath to breath, face to face, they remained intertwined, absorbing, still touching, still learning, unwilling to draw apart, each relishing being one with the other in a way they had feared forever lost.

"I'm sorry that was so fast," he finally breathed, feeling half-drugged as she toyed with a lock of his hair.

"No apologies," she insisted with a lazy quirk of her brow. "Besides, I beat you. Remember?"

His chuckle tickled her ribs, and they laughed again, embracing each other, relishing the contact of bodies still warm from sex.

"I think we were both time bombs," he mused, adoring the mussed nature of her hair, thrilled that he had been the cause of it. "Set to explode on contact."

"And what a glorious explosion it was," she grinned, opening her mouth to him again, arching into his touch on her breast. A sound stopped their kiss, and they drew back from each other, giggling helplessly yet again.

"Was that your stomach?" he questioned, pushing himself up further on to his elbows.

"I certainly hope so," she quipped, unable to keep her fingers out of his hair. "Otherwise, I'm in worse shape than I thought."

"Well, I did make you skip your dinner," he mused, covering her nipple with his mouth yet again, leisurely laving it with his tongue.

"So you did," she sighed, tracing circles on his back. "You greedy boy."

"You have no idea," he hummed into her skin, toying with her other breast gingerly before taking it into his mouth. "I'm starting to get a clear picture," she breathed, holding him to her, wrapping her leg around him yet again. "You're very focused."

"One-track mind," he managed, his fingers taking over for his tongue. "Right now my mind is on your delightful breasts."

"So I've noticed," she returned, pressing herself into his hand, reveling in the grace of his touch. "They like the attention."

"That's good to know," he grinned, squeezing her more intently as his lips captured hers. She hummed into his mouth, making him grin as he drew back and dotted a kiss on to her nose. "I suppose I should let you eat now."

"That might be a good thing," she agreed with a sigh. "Dessert was quite filling, but I need to replenish my energy."

"Dessert was decadent," he murmured, rolling her nipple between his fingers. "And it sounds as if you have big plans for the rest of the night."

Her grin was almost wicked, the spark in her eyes daring and bold.

"Huge plans, actually," she clarified, easing her hand down between them. "Monumental, concrete, rock solid plans, in case you're interested in joining me."

He chuckled into her, melting her with that lopsided smile.

"I'm very interested," he stated, stroking her forehead. "And I'm certain those plans will firm up later."

Her head fell back in laughter.

"I'm glad to hear it," she mused. "I'll wager you're in need of reinforcements, too."

"I'm starving," he laughed, rolling off of her reluctantly, laying a hand on his forehead. "You soaked up all of my reserves."

"In more ways than one," she quipped as he chuckled appreciatively.

"Thank God for birth control," he stated, pushing himself up to a sitting position.

"The girls would be so disappointed to hear you say that," she retorted, earning an eye roll from him.

"Don't you say a word," he insisted as he stood up. "I am most certainly not ready to have that conversation with my six-year-old."

"We may be having it sooner than we'd like,' she sighed as she stretched languidly. "Those two are much too curious when it comes to how babies are made."

"God help us," he laughed, rubbing his scalp. "Can you imagine how they will react if we do have another baby?"

"It will likely turn into mass pandemonium," she mused with a soft smile. "They'll be thrilled beyond belief…when the time is right, that is."

"Timing is everything," he chuckled.

"Yes," she whispered, feeling every word she uttered. "Yes, it is."

It hit her as she stared at him, naked and smiling, his hand extended towards her just as another had been in her past. Matthew was her future, Matthew was her home. His daughter would be hers, and Anna would become his, her gift from one man to be shared with another. They would be a family, a real family, the kind she had always wanted, the kind she had feared believing could be hers after golden dreams had burned into embers. This—here, with Matthew, Anna, Belle and any other children they might have—this was to be her life. This was now her everything.

Her heart swelled as her eyes brimmed with moisture, and she swallowed down the urge to cry as she took his hand and stood beside him. How beautiful she felt under the adoration of his gaze, how cherished in the shelter of his arms, how natural standing skin to skin. She knew this was right with everything inside of her, and her limbs tingled in ecstatic anxiety as blue eyes looked at her intently.

She was completely in love with Matthew Crawley. But there was much she had to tell him first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided this was the chapter to merge their past stories as it marks the point at which their relationship merges in a new manner. I'm not sure if you have caught this or not, but I've been telling Mary's story in a forward manner, while Matthew's past has been explored moving backwards. Just a stylistic choice on my part-not a character statement or use of foreshadowing, by any means. That being said, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and always appreciate any feedback you send my way. --Laura


	13. Chapter 13

"God, I'm stuffed."

He leaned back on her couch, wearing a supremely satisfied grin that made her smile and draw instinctively closer.

"I thought that was my line," she quipped, setting her plate down on the table.

"Later," he returned, pulling her face to his, rubbing her lips slowly, opening to her, drawing her in. She tasted of hummus and wine, of spices and of him, and he licked the corners and edges of her mouth, determined not to miss a drop her own personal elixir. "Keep this up and I'll be stuffed in my boxers, as well," he observed raggedly.

"Oh, I intend to keep this up," she remarked with a wicked gleam in her eye, her fingers walking a deliberate path across his lap that made him gasp.

"Up and at 'em," he managed before pulling her mouth fully back to his own.

"What an inspiring motto," she grinned, sighing into him as her arms snaked around his neck. She crawled onto his lap, and his hands found their way under her nightshirt, encircling her waist as she took in her fill of his tongue. Warmth enveloped her completely, his hands, his chest, the wine in her veins, the steam of his breath. Then his lips moved to her ear, finding that spot just below her lobe he had discovered earlier that made her jump instinctively.

"Ouch," he managed, sitting up straighter as he rubbed his thigh where she had landed.

"Oh God, did I hurt you?" she asked with rounded eyes as her hands began to search him for damage.

"I can't say that was the most pleasurable experience of the evening," he mused with a wince. "That spot on your neck should be marked with a caution sign."

"You knew exactly what you were doing," she insisted with narrowed eyes. "If you can't handle the g-force, don't ride the ride."

"Oh, I'm riding the ride," he hummed. "I hear it has an amazing corkscrew." Her head dropped to his shoulder as she laughed silently into his skin. "I'll survive, don't worry," he assured her with a wink, adjusting his seat as she moved off of him slowly. "Somehow you landed right on a bone."

"Just not _the_ bone, I hope," she tossed back, earning herself a look she wanted to photograph. "What in God's name would I tell your mother if we had to get you a splint for that?"

"I would leave that one to you," he remarked, shifting uncomfortably. "Ugh. That's really a disturbing thought."

"Which one?" she questioned. "My talking to your mother or the idea of breaking your light saber?"

"Both," he retorted. "And I'm not sure which would be worse."

"I suppose we could always improvise a bandage," she suggested. "Grape leaves could work."

"You have quite the fixation with stuffed grape leaves, I've noticed," he stated, leaning in a bit closer.

"The proof is in the stuffing," she mused coyly. "And I've never met a grape leaf I didn't like."

"I have a thing for moussaka, you know," he said softly, twirling his finger over the swell of her breast.

"You have a thing for breasts, Crawley," she stated flatly.

"And thighs," he added with a flick of his brows. "And legs." His fingers traced her bare calf, making her arch her back and rock forward on her hips. "I actually like the entire package," he voiced, his mouth hovering at the base of her neck. "It would be a shame to miss out on any part of this feast."

"Good thing we ordered the sampler platter," she managed as his lips made contact.

"That was quite a sampling," he hummed as the pad of his finger traced figure-eights on her back. "Exotic, decadent and immensely satisfying."

"You do like your baba ganoush," she observed huskily, losing her fingers in blonde hair gone astray as her nerves tuned into him fully.

"Dinner was good," he shot back. "But I was referring to the appetizer course earlier this evening. I can't get my mind or my taste buds away from it." She made an appreciative noise in the back of her throat, moving cautiously back on to his lap.

"I thought that was dessert," she stated with a quirk of her brow, biting her lower lip as she straddled him closer.

"So did I at first," he replied. "But somehow my sweet tooth is waking up again."

"Is it now?" she grinned, rotating her hips against him just so. "So what's next on the menu? Bananas flambé?" She squealed when he flipped her over, her back on the couch cushions, his body pressing in.

"I'm actually in the mood for some creme brulee," he breathed into her neck, eliciting a sound she couldn't identify even though she had clearly made it. Then he stopped moving, and he pushed himself up on his arms as his face stretched absurdly in a massive yawn.

"Looks as if cookies and warm milk would be more your speed," she teased, unable to contain her laughter as his head dropped to her chest.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured into her ribs. "Just let me brew some coffee, and I should be up for another round."

She tugged his face towards her own, staring into those eyes that had now seen all of her.

"Why don't we go back to bed," she suggested. "And actually sleep for a while?"

"You don't mind?" he asked, looking both mortified and relieved. "I know you said you had big plans for tonight, and I don't want to miss them."

"You're not getting out of those plans," she shot back before yawning herself, eliciting a chuckle. "Not that easily. I made whipped cream and everything."

"There's nothing that could keep me out of your whipped cream," he dared, outlining her lips with his fingertip.

"That's good to know," she stated. "And I haven't even mentioned the fondue."

His kiss was gentle and all-consuming, the kiss of a lover wrapping her in velvet layers of assurance and peace. Long fingers stroked his scalp, pressing in, holding on, and she relished the soft and easy contentment of him that warmed every nerve and fiber.

"I'll be sure to dip in," he whispered on to her lips. "Several times, in fact, if you'll let me. Just let me steady my skewer." His eyes fluttered and rounded in an effort to remain open, and she giggled, pushing him playfully off of her and taking his hand.

"Come on," she instructed as she pulled him up from the couch. "Let's get you to bed."

"That's funny," he remarked, following her into her bedroom. "I'm suddenly experiencing a strong sense of deja vu."

"You're experiencing a strong sense of post-sex full stomach syndrome," she returned, making him laugh yet again. "There's only one cure that I know of for that." He stopped at her bedside, turning her to face him, rubbing a lock of her hair.

"You are my cure," he voiced, his tone deep and unsteady as he took her hands within his. Something akin to an electric shock pulsed through her never-endings at light-speed as her heart hammered insistently against every bone she possessed. "I mean it, Mary," he breathed, the depth of sincerity in his gaze rendering her speechless. "You've brought me back to life in ways I never thought possible." The room suddenly felt off-kilter.

She nearly fell into him, clasping on, holding tight, shivering as his arms stroked her back through the over-sized cotton shirt. He held her to him as if he had done so all his life, cradling her head, supporting her body.

"Me, too," she whispered as her cheek pressed in to his shoulder. "And I don't want to lose this, Matthew. I can't."

Her legs felt no sturdier than paper straws, her feet tingling for reasons unknown.

"You won't," he hummed into her hair, kissing it en route to her forehead, and she reveled in the feel of his bare skin. He then drew her face back, staring at her fully. "I promise, because I won't let you go. I can't stomach the thought of life without you or Anna. You've become…" He paused, measuring words that seemed to stick stubbornly in his throat. "You're my family now."

Her stomach did cartwheels at a pace she couldn't follow, and she closed her eyes to center herself, breathing him in as if he were her only source of oxygen.

"You and Belle have become a part who I am," she confessed, trembling all over. "I never thought that could happen again, but it has. God, it half-terrifies me." Warm fingers traced her cheekbone, and she rested her cheek in his palm, this small touch speaking volumes to what was still broken inside of her.

"I know," he stated. "Believe me." He drew her to his chest, binding her to him, making her feel like his wife in a way she always had imagined being a wife should feel.

"How is this possible, Matthew?"

He shook his head, smiling back at her with tired eyes.

"I honestly don't know," he answered gently. "But I'm not inclined to second guess it." A smile broke over her lips just before a yawn pushed it aside. "I think you could use some rest, as well," he observed with a nudge to her shoulder. She nodded compliantly, knowing it wouldn't come, it never did after sex, at least not since her marriage. But she needed to be beside him, in his arms, in his life, and she settled in close as they drew up the blankets and nuzzled together, wrapped up as new lovers reluctant to let go.

"I love you, Mary," he assured her as his eyes drifted shut.

"I love you, too," she breathed shakily, feeling his arm pull her closer as he kissed her forehead yet again. Then his limbs relaxed, his breathing steadied, and he slept.

How did men do that?

Her eyes remained open, fixed on him as she maneuvered to her side, watching him sleep—this man who had sneaked into her life and rearranged it before she realized what was happening. She traced his ring finger, now bare, publicly open, and she stared at her own rings, still attached, still heavy, in need of release. In need of freedom. Questions filled her mind, keeping her alert even as she closed her eyes, refusing her the sleep she sought as her past and present collided. Two sets of brown eyes stared back at her in a fog, both gentle, both loving, both inflicting unintentional pain that had marked her in ways they would be mortified to witness. Then the eyes morphed into her daughter's, eager and curious, and she wondered how Anna would respond when she knew the truth of her parentage. It was so much for a child to take in, more than she should have to absorb, but it was her past, her identity, and it was both glorious and beautiful. She ached all over, wishing again Charles could have at least seen her, could have at least held his daughter once, the injustice of it all striking her squarely as her eyes welled up yet again.

She looked to the man now lying beside her, this man who had also lost so much, this man whose wife had at least been granted some time with her child before she was callously taken away. Such thoughts were pointless, she knew. Tragedy and loss shouldn't be compared. The holes left in both Belle and Matthew were as gaping and hollow as those borne by Anna and herself. But somehow those openings were being filled in and crafted into something new, something organic, something magnificent in its own right that nearly took her breath. She wouldn't be here with Matthew had it not been for the tragedy of her past. How ironic that what now brought her such joy could not have existed without the hell she had endured for years. The image of a phoenix was brought to mind, as she focused on it, the reds and oranges of fire and rebirth emerging from gray ashes of a former life whose remains now fertilized her current one. Had she always been destined to love two men? To have two lives that would finally intersect here in this bed? To have two daughters, one by birth and another by choice, perhaps even another whose eyes could be the blue of a placid lake? Or maybe a son with blonde floppy hair, one who would remind her of Matthew as fervently as Anna reminded her of Charles?

She lost track of time as her musings continued to swirl, entangling themselves in a nighttime fog that kept her from the cusp of sleep. Finally restless legs pushed her forward out of the bed and onto the carpet, and she padded quietly to her hall closet, opening the door and removing the towels from the top shelf. She felt for the box in the dark, practiced fingers locating it quickly, and she pulled it to her, staring at it for the first time since Matthew had come into her life. She had made this for Anna, yet her daughter had never seen it, and she knew that fact had to be rectified immediately. She bore it to the sofa, the sense of life radiating from its confines somehow even more palpable at night, and she clicked on the lamp beside her as she grabbed a quilt for warmth. Her hands trembled as they always did when she opened the door to this part of her past, and her skin felt electrified as if she were stepping into a magic portal that could whisk her back into his arms. But that was impossible, it always had been, and she removed the box lid gingerly, breathing in the hint of musk that signified his presence.

"It's time, you know," she whispered, closing her eyes as his face swam before her. God, she could almost feel his arms tightening around her back, could almost trace his dimple, could almost lose herself in memories as she had too often over the past six years. Had it truly been nearly six years since her life had shattered in a split second. His letter lay on top. She always made certain of that, allowing it room to breathe, this last piece of him she had been granted before he was stolen from her life. She stroked its surface, swallowing hard as she withdrew the photograph below it, the last one taken of them together, his hands encircling her waist, both of them smiling as they looked towards their future with an optimism that hurt. She held it close, tracing his face, recalling his scent, remembering words spoken whose significance she had not recognized at the time.

_I love you, and I'll see you tonight._

But he hadn't. He had never seen her again.

At least her last images had been happy ones. He had been smiling, so had she as they finalized wedding plans and discussed colors for the nursery. Pink he had insisted, and she had shaken her head, reminding him that they could be having a son, watching his brows draw up in silent contradiction as he sipped his water.

_It's a girl, Mary. How many times do I have to tell you?_

"It is a girl," she breathed into the silence, pulling the quilt around her to ward off a sudden chill as she stared through a crack in the drapes into a clear, cold night. "And you would be so proud of her."

If she closed her eyes, she was there again, in labor and delivery, terrified, exhausted, and horribly alone.

_So the father is overseas, Mrs. Gillingham?_

_The father is dead._

She had cried out for him in the midst of contractions, weeping outwardly and inwardly as she neared the point of giving birth, needing him more than air or water, willing to sell her soul if it would bring him back even for a day.

_You have a daughte_ r, the doctor had told her.

_We have a daughter_ , she had whispered, baptizing their baby with tears of grief and joy, kissing her mop of black hair, envisioning how he would look at her, how he would hold her, how he would be beaming at his baby girl with an awe he wouldn't be able to voice.

"Couldn't sleep?"

His question reached out from across the room, and Matthew stood in just his boxers, looking at her with an expression she couldn't make out in the darkened portion of the room.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," she returned, scooting over so he could sit comfortably beside her on the couch. Groggy shadows played over his features, but the sleepy expression that met hers was open and concerned.

"You didn't," he smiled as he flopped down on the sofa. "Your absence did."

She smiled at him, feeling so much that her body could almost not process it all.

"Then my absence apologizes," she stated as he moved closer, yawning away the allure of sleep still clinging stubbornly to him.

"Your absence is the only thing I don't love about you," he returned as she let the quilt fall off her shoulders. "I'm too dependent already." He took her hands within his own, looking back to her in alarm. "Oh my god, Mary, you're freezing."

She sighed into the nearly non-existent space between them, absorbing the heat of his hands into her own chilled skin.

"And you're like a toaster oven," she mused, leaning towards him and the warmth that he offered. He was so vibrant, so alive, so close and real, tangible and soothing, life to her soul. She then stared down at the box beside her, this container filled with so much of who she was, and she looked back to Matthew for resolve and assurance, receiving both in eyes that understood, that let her know she was safe.

"Tell me," he whispered, the plea in his voice unmistakable as his fingers stroked her knuckles. "About him." He indicated the photograph she had laid on the table with a nod of his chin. "About Anna's father."

She swallowed and nodded, picking up the picture and handing it to him with hands that shook. He took it from her and stared at it appreciatively, a wisp of a smile curving his mouth as he looked back at her.

"Blake?" he guessed, making her eyes round slightly. "Anna's middle name tipped me off."

"Charles Blake," she clarified, clearing her throat as his thumb continued to stroke her hand. "You don't miss anything, do you?"

"Not when it comes to you," he stated, giving her palm a light squeeze. "God, I always thought Anna looked just like you, but there's a lot of him inside of her, isn't there?"

She nodded, her eyes welling up, her throat constricting.

"Her smile," she managed. "The shape of her eyes. And her dimple. And that stubborn cow-lick of hers we battle almost every morning." He chuckled as he brought the back of her hand to his lips. \

"You're pregnant in this picture, aren't you?"

"How can you tell?" she questioned, staring back at him incredulously.

"The way he's cradling your stomach," he answered. "No matter how flat it still is, he knows the value of the treasure hidden inside. And his expression."

"His expression?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I recognize it," he expounded. "This is a man who has everything he's ever wanted and more, and he's profoundly thankful." He paused, gazing into her directly. "He's also madly in love."

"So was I," she breathed. "So was I." She inhaled deeply, pulling her knees in closer as she straightened her spine. "He always knew she was a girl," she stated, hovering now between two men, two worlds. "From the moment he first touched my belly, he was adamant about it."

"He had good instincts," he replied, observing her closely.

"That's true," she returned. "But this was more, this was…" She broke off, attempting to collect her thoughts. "It was as if life knew what was coming for him, and it at least gave him that." It was silent between them, both fully realizing that hurt lay straight ahead.

"What was coming for him, Mary?"

She closed her eyes, bracing herself for impact.

"An aneurysm." Her answer sucked the air from the room.

"Oh, God." He moved in closer, still holding her hands, still giving her room but keeping her grounded, keeping her with him even as she opened such a difficult door.

"We were just weeks away from our wedding," she continued. "I had gone for a fitting, praying I wouldn't outgrow my dress before it was time to walk down the aisle." She stopped, swallowing again, shaking her head in both acceptance and mute denial. "We had gone out for lunch that afternoon to discuss the wedding and the nursery. I ordered tomato bisque and a chopped salad. How strange that I can still remember that."

"No," he assured her. "I was drinking hazelnut coffee when the call came about Lavinia. I haven't been able to drink that particular flavor ever since." She stared back at him, eyes locking in a shared understanding she needed to remain steady.

"It was out of nowhere, I was told," she stated. "One minute, he was laughing over a joke, and the next…" She paused, her breath now coming in gasps. "The next he fell over. He died instantly." How many times had she visualized that moment, thankful she hadn't witnessed it personally yet wondering how much worse her imagination had rendered it over time?

"Mary," he whispered roughly. "I-I don't know what to say." She squeezed his fingers, nodding in silence.

"I know," she agreed absently. "What does one say to something like that?"

"You say it's wrong," he offered, his own voice weighted. "You say it's tragic. And then you scream to the universe that it is unbearable and unfair, even though you know it won't do any good." She nodded mutely, drinking in the feel of his lips to her temple as she held his arm shakily.

"I rocked," she confessed. "Alone in the nursery for hours on end. I didn't want to see anyone. And I couldn't…" She paused to clear her throat, and he wiped her cheek with a tenderness she felt to her core. "I couldn't sleep in our bed. It just felt wrong." He nodded in understanding.

"I slept on the couch for a month," he admitted. "And then in the guest room for weeks after that. There's something so personal about the bedroom, so intimate it almost seems a sacrilege to sleep there alone." She exhaled, their foreheads nearly touching.

"I bought a new bed, eventually," she confessed. "Although now I wished I hadn't." He squeezed her shoulder in support, cupping the side of her face.

"How did you find out?" he asked with measured hesitation. A chill sped over limbs already shaken as blurred images and sharp fragments competed for dominance.

"I had just gotten home and gone upstairs to change," she continued. "Then I heard the doorbell. I thought it was my mother, you know—we were planning to go register for baby things, and I thought she was early. I thought it was my mother."

Had she spoken that last sentence or simply thought it? She couldn't remember in the swirling and crashing of memories unleashed.

"But it wasn't your mother?" He was with her, hanging on to every word, following her down the stairs to her front door, and she looked back at him, pressing her lips together tightly as her head shook of its own accord.

"No. It wasn't my mother," she whispered, staring into her past just over his shoulder. "It was Tony."


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary reveals the details of her past to Matthew.

_"Tony? What are you doing here?"_

_She stepped back in surprise, her hand moving to her abdomen self-consciously before she let it fall back to her side._

_"Mary." A chill sped up the back of her legs, skittering into pores, raising the hairs on her neck. Something was off, it was obvious in his stance, in his expression, in the odd pallor of his face. Her skin went instantly cold , and she wrapped her arms around her body, protecting herself from something she instinctively feared._

_"What is it?" she questioned, knowing she sounded defensive but unable to control herself. "Where's Charles? Is he with you?"_

_Tony took a step towards her, but she continued to block the door, feeling oddly as if she let him inside her life would be irrevocably altered._

_"Please, Mary," he pleaded, nudging the door with his foot. "May I come in?" Her throat constricted as a wave of nausea hit, but she nodded silently and stepped back into her house, her legs quaking for reasons unknown. He walked in unceremoniously, his hands too busy, his mouth too tight. For some reason, she noticed the brightness of the sun and mentally wrapped herself in its allure, attempting to use it as a shield for an invisible enemy hovering just out of sight._

_"Where's Charles?" she asked again, trying to shove down a growing sense of panic. "Did he send you to get something?"_

_He sighed and faced her, taking her shoulders in his hands without leave or invitation. She fought back the urge to run._

_"Mary," he began. "About Charles…he…." A bolt of terror gripped her gut and she shoved his hands from her body, pushing past him to the other side of the room in a form of defiance. She could not hear what he had come to tell her. She was certain of it._

_"Did he forget something he needs for the wedding?" she interrupted, moving to a stack of papers and brochures strewn across the coffee table. "I keep telling him he needs a pocket planner. If it's a problem with the tuxedos…"_

_"It's not the tuxedos," Tony cut in with an urgency she could no longer ignore. "It's Charles." Her entire body shook on the impact of his name, a tone of finality hitting her squarely in the gut. "He collapsed, Mary, right beside me at work."_

_The world's edges blackened, a slight buzz in her head making her feel terribly dizzy. She felt pieces of herself float out of her body, leaving parts of her numb while others stood on full alert._

_"I know he had a slight a headache at lunch…" she breathed, shaking her head slightly. "Did it get worse?" His hand was on her shoulder, imploring her to meet his gaze._

_"If you would just let me explain…"_

_"Where is he now? The hospital? Being treated? Are you here to take me to him?" Her words were breathless and strung together in a manner nearly incoherent even to her own ears. God, she needed him right now, his smile, his assurance, that damned smirk of his that both endeared him to her and irritated the hell out of her. She craved him like air, her nerves keening for any sight of him, for a text, a call…anything. God—anything. Anything at all._

_"I wish I were. He's gone, Mary."_

_No._

_"You're wrong," she mumbled, syllables somehow taking form and voice as she struggled against an inner weight dragging her under. "Charles wouldn't leave me. He wouldn't…"_

_"It was instantaneous, they said. I don't think he suffered any pain."_

_She couldn't breathe, couldn't process, visions of life stretching out in front of her in some sort of warped reflection seen inside a Fun House._

_"Why…why you…" "I volunteered," Tony interrupted gently, taking a hold of her arms._

_"So you wouldn't have to hear it from strangers. Listen, Mary, I can't imagine what you're—"_

_She didn't let him finish. Bile shot up her throat, making her gag instantly, and she ran to the bathroom, barely reaching the toilet before she vomited until she couldn't anymore. She was empty—so incredibly empty—yet filled with an agony too acute to name. Spots filled her vision, lead invaded her lungs, every breath an effort, every muscle in her body in an active state of mutiny. Charles. Gone. No, God. Please. No. Her arms encircled her stomach, clutching the life growing there as best as she could, visualizing his face when she had told him of her pregnancy, feeling the sensation of his lips stroking her own. He couldn't be gone, not when he had so much to live for, not when she loved him so much. Not when she needed him to the point of desperation._

_"Oh, God," she cried, her face wet from tears and mucus. "Oh, baby."_

_Words left her then, morphing into unearthly sounds of grief welling up from depths that hurt too much to explore. She continued to cradle their child as her form slid back against the wall, her legs going slack, her fingers now numb. This couldn't be right…but it was no lie. A mix-up? A mistake?_

_"Come back. We need you. I need you."_

_It was a whispered plea passed from trembling lips into an emptiness she felt all over. She wished she could feel their child move, to know his life still rested there, to be assured that that part of him hadn't been stolen from her, as well. One hand continued to rub her stomach while the other wiped her face, her vision clearing to see a blurry figure standing just in the door frame._

_Tony. Not Charles. And his expression told her he had heard enough._

_"Christ," Tony breathed as he rubbed his chin before sinking to the floor a few feet away from her. "You're pregnant. Oh, God, Mary. God."_

_There was no need to answer, and she looked to the window, needing the hands of time to turn back miraculously and put her back in the life she was supposed to have. The urge to scream was suddenly overpowering, and she bit her lower lip until she tasted her own blood._

_"He can't be gone," she protested to the wall, to the ceiling, to any other surface that didn't possess the ability to contradict her. "We're getting married in a few weeks. We're having a baby."_

_Their baby. The child he was certain was a daughter. A child who would now never know her father. Oh, God._

_Tony slid in closer, and she shied away, knowing none of this was his fault but desperately needing someone to punish._

_"Go away, Tony," she commanded. "I can't talk to you right now." He didn't move, and she felt his eyes on her. She suppressed the urge to claw at her own skin and buried her face in her hands, rubbing palms roughly over her eyes and forehead, trying to press reality away forever._

_"I'm so sorry," Tony whispered after clearing his throat._

_"Please go," she bit, at the verge of screaming. This was all wrong. Charles should be here—Charles. Not Tony._

_"I can't," he argued. "Not until I know you're alright."_

_"I'll never be alright," she cried, staring back at him incredulously. "For God's sake, just go."_

_A small drip came from the faucet, and she tore off her shoe and hurled it at the sink. A soap dispenser fell to the floor, and she stared at it, wishing it had broken. She was broken. Life was broken. It would never be alright again._

_"I'll do everything I can to watch out for you and your baby," he put in quietly, reaching out for her arm, making her flinch at his touch. "It's the least I can do for you and Charles. You have my word."_

_A light inside her went out, a cold darkness striking like a shard of ice though nerve and bone. She was frozen then, a figure carved of marble and granite, a sculpted Madonna rather than a living woman carrying a child._

_"I don't want your word," she murmured, staring back at him but seeing nothing. "I want Charles."_

_He had no response._

_The creak of a door alerted them that her mother had let herself in, and she heard Cora crying out to her with a cheerfulness that seemed horribly out of place. It was wrong, somehow, just as the sun's warmth had been wrong, just as beauty and art were nothing but cruel reminders of a joy sapped from her lungs. Just as life had morphed from a dream to a nightmare. Just as hope had bled out of her veins. Just as the love of her life had left without even giving her the chance to say good-bye._

_Tony rose to his feet, making his way towards Cora, leaving her in the solitude she needed to absorb a pain that was too much. She heard voices but made out no words, sounds blurring indistinctly in her mind now covered in a landscape of grays and blacks._

_"Come back," she breathed to the man who had painted her life in bright color, the man who could no longer hear her, the one who had left a part of himself in her keeping. The man she would always love and forever mourn. The one she knew she would never get over._

* * *

 

Her hands had steadied, her breathing had calmed, but he understood what this had taken from her. He knew the marks left by untimely death and the sting of scars freshly exposed. God, he knew it all too well.

"Matthew." His name was a plea, one he answered immediately, drawing her to him, holding her fast. She was abnormally cold, and he tugged the fallen quilt back up around her shoulders, holding her close. His lips lingered on her hair as he felt cool fingers press into his back, and he treasured the steady rhythm of her breath on his shoulder as he cradled her into his heart.

"I can't imagine," he whispered, and he felt her draw back, her dark eyes boring back into him with a look of raw acceptance.

"Yes you can," she protested, clasping his hand within hers. "You're one of the few who can."

"I wasn't pregnant when Lavinia died," he stated, bringing her fingers to his mouth and kissing them gently.

"No," she agreed. "You were only parenting a three year old."

He smiled ruefully, toying with a strand of her hair before stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"I'm not sure I would have survived without Belle," he admitted, watching as her eyes creased in acknowledgement.

"Anna became my life," she returned. "She was all I thought about for a long time, all I could think about without falling to pieces over and over again." His thumb traced patterns on her knuckles as noses touched.

"When did Tony propose?" he finally questioned, allowing her to lean back into the cushions to face him fully. "Surely not when you were still in shock?"

"Not that day, no," she replied. "It was about a month later, actually. Right after he got word that he was being deployed." His breath caught uncomfortably as his mind raced to process what she had just revealed to him.

"Only a month?" he echoed, racking his fingers across his scalp. "God—were you even functioning at that point?"

She shook her head as the sides of her mouth drew slightly upwards.

"No," she answered flatly. "I was still reminding myself how to breathe." She sighed into the room and cleared her throat, allowing him to settle back a bit to see her better. "He showed up one afternoon," Mary expounded. "Back on my doorstep. He had taken to checking in on me a couple of days a week, so I thought that's what he was doing." Her features flinched as her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"But he wasn't," Matthew assumed, squeezing her hand.

"No," she responded. "Not this time." She stroked the rings on her finger with her thumb, and he watched her brow crease in concentration. "He told me he would be leaving in a few weeks, that he couldn't stand the thought of me being left alone to raise a child, that he wanted to marry me and help me raise my baby. If I were his wife, it would give him something to look forward to while he was away, a reason to do what he had to do." She paused, inhaling with a marked deliberation. "I'm not sure why it all sounded reasonable at the time," she continued, her eyes now staring at their hands. "I was so numb, so lost, and I had agreed before I honestly realized what I was doing. I was such an idiot."

"You were in mourning," Matthew corrected, scooting close enough to cup her face in his palm. "There were days I forgot to brush my teeth, times when I couldn't remember where my sock drawer was, of all things." She smiled at him, and he saw a sheen of moisture collecting around the rim of her eyes.

"But at least you had the good sense to know not to marry someone else," she argued, her face twitching in self-reprobation.

"I also wasn't pregnant," he reminded her gently. "God, Mary, you were dealing with all of the hormones and emotions that go along with carrying a child as well as grieving over the man you loved."

"I was a terrible wife," she confessed softly. "I know Tony wanted more, but I couldn't give him what he needed, what he deserved."

"Of course you couldn't," he cut in. "You could barely take care of yourself at that time. But that doesn't make you a terrible wife. Trust me on this. Please." He heard her breath become harsher as her eyes distanced themselves.

"We slept in separate beds on our honeymoon," she continued quietly. "I couldn't sleep in the same room with him—not then, it was too soon. God, I spent the entire week throwing up and crying in the bedroom, the week before he was shipped off to Afghanistan." Her body trembled slightly.

"Mary, he knew the state you were in when he proposed," Matthew argued gently. "He couldn't have expected you to act like a typical bride on her honeymoon. That would have been unreasonable." Air puffed out her nostrils as she wiped away a stray tear.

"And a year later?" she questioned. "When he came home? After I'd given birth to Anna? How should I have behaved then?"

"You were still mourning," Matthew reminded her, moving forward until their legs intertwined. "I still wasn't myself a year after I lost Lavinia, and I couldn't have given anyone what they needed in a fully-functioning relationship. I didn't have it in me then."

"I didn't either," she confessed, her gaze dropping to her lap. "But that's what he wanted."

Realization struck him as he watched the twisted motion of the lines of her face, and he ached to wipe away layers of guilt she had wrapped around herself for far too long.

"Is this why you've been so reluctant to talk about your marriage to Tony?" he questioned, tipping her chin to look at him directly. "Because you feel like you were an inadequate wife?"

"I was an inadequate wife," she stated succinctly. "I kept putting him off as long as possible—we continued to sleep in separate rooms. But I could see how it hurt him. So one night, I decided I should actually act like his wife." He felt a shudder coarse through her body, watched as her lips tightened and pressed together. "When it was over and he had fallen asleep, I got out of bed and sat on the kitchen floor. I cried for nearly an hour." He held her then, he couldn't help it, pulling her as tightly to him as possible, stroking her back in a reassurance he silently willed her to accept. "I hated myself then," she whispered, cold fingers stroking his chest. "I felt guilty for not wanting to make love to my husband, but felt like I had just betrayed the man I still loved, even though he was dead. God, I was a mess."

"You did nothing wrong," he breathed into her ear, wanting to reassure her on so many levels.

"I don't know," she returned. "But I did the same thing every time we had sex. I would wait until he fell asleep and then I would get up and cry. One night he actually woke up and found me like that. He didn't say a word, you know. Just turned around and walked back to bed. He never touched me again."

He felt her arms go cold in spite of the quilt, and he rubbed their surface gently.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured, continuing to stroke her skin. "But you can't blame yourself for experiencing normal feelings, Mary."

"Can't I?" she questioned in ragged whisper. "He left a few months later for another tour of Afghanistan. This time, he didn't come back." His heart broke open for her, sensing her guilt, feeling the weight of her pain. "I've always wondered if he volunteered to go," she continued, her tone somewhere far away. "Things were very uneasy between us for some time. He was always kind to me and Anna, but he began to stay away from home more often. He'd come home later and later. I was sure there was someone else." She paused again, wiping her cheek, blowing out an unsteady breath. "Do you want to know the most tragic thing about my marriage to Tony?" she questioned, clearing her throat quietly. "I was relieved to think that he was having an affair. I didn't feel one drop of remorse, not one ounce of jealousy. I was just happy he was leaving me alone. How heartless does that make me, Matthew?"

"Far from heartless," he returned, covering her hand with his own. "You were never given a chance to properly grieve Charles, and you were busy being a mother to his child. The fact that you didn't love Tony doesn't make you a woman of shallow feelings. In fact, it shows the opposite—that you love deeply, so deeply that it's hard for you to let go and move on." Another tear trailed down her cheek, and he wiped it away, cherishing the manner in which she leaned into his touch, craving the ability to wipe away unwarranted layers of shame. "I've never seen a mother who loves her child any more than you love Anna," he continued. "You're an amazing mother…and amazing lover, I must say." She tossed him a soft half-grin, one that tugged on his heart relentlessly. "And the way you are with Belle…I…" His throat clenched as emotions nearly blindsided him, the force with which he loved this woman difficult to put in words. "Thank you for making her feel so special."

"I love your daughter," she stated, stroking his cheek, sniffing rather loudly. "I feel like she's already partially mine."

"So does she," he confessed as moisture pooled behind his eyes. "And I feel the same way about Anna, you know. I love her already." She nodded, biting her lower lip as she looked back at the box on the table. "She has to know about her father, Mary," he stated, tucking wayward dark locks behind her ear. "He's a part of her, a good part of her, and she should be allowed to embrace that portion herself."

"I know," she nodded with a loud swallow. "Things were just so complicated when she was little."

"She's a good age now, I think," he observed, shifting slightly in his seat. "Old enough to understand but young enough to still accept things easily. I wouldn't wait any longer." He felt her nod against his hand and knew her mind was spinning in several directions at once. "Can I get you anything?" he inquired. She toyed with his stubborn lock of hair before caressing his scalp in a way that could make a grown man purr.

"No," she answered. "Just hold me."

He smiled, and she leaned into him, allowing his arms to engulf her. She was a part of him now, truly a part of him in every conceivable manner. Emotionally, physically, and spiritually in ways that were beyond his comprehension. He kissed the top of her head, cupping her hair, rubbing a thumb over the back of her neck, stroking her hand again, inadvertently touching her rings in the process. She sat up then and looked at him fully, twisting them on her finger as a heavy sigh escaped her.

"It's time for this, too," she breathed, looking at her left hand once more before removing the two bands he had never seen her without. They were laid with a small clink upon the table next to Anna's box, and they both stared at them, mementos of a past now laid open in full.

"Are you alright?" Her face softened as she nodded in ascension.

"Better than I've been in a long time," she returned, looking from the table to the ceiling before gazing back at him. Her eyes were full of so much he now understood in a different light.

"God, I love you," he whispered, and she did smile then, a smile that actually reached her eyes and made her look like a girl fresh out of college.

"I'm so glad," she hummed, kissing his forehead then his cheek, her lips finally touching down on his with the pressure of a moth's wings. "I need you so much, Matthew."

His heart was so full it ached to the point of pain. They held each other in the quiet, relaxing into the cushions, holding and stroking, unwilling to let the other go. His limbs settled into hers, and he felt her sigh into him, even as her thumb continually stroked the side of his arm.

"Tonight," she began as she pushed herself up from his chest and caressed his face. "I didn't cry. Not after we made love, I mean."

"I should hope not," he grinned, watching as her expression relaxed and then constricted again.

"It's the first time I haven't," she expounded, her voice so soft he could barely hear it. "Since Charles died, I mean."

The full impact of her admission struck him with the force of lightning. He nudged her cheek with his nose until they were staring eye-to-eye, lost to everything save each other.

"I wanted to share a bed with you," she whispered. "Want to, I mean." A small breath escaped her, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm glad the past tense isn't necessary," he chuckled, kissing her forehead with utmost tenderness. "I would hate to think I performed so poorly." She kissed him softly with feather light strokes that left him trembling and completely hers.

"You're wonderful," she hummed. "I just…to know this is possible again…to know you don't blame me for my past."

"Blame you?" he questioned, shaking his head. "I love you for your past," He sought her lips again, nudging her mouth closer with his hand on the back of her head. Her arms wrapped around him securely, and she crawled into his lap, holding him with a force he felt all over.

"And I love you for my present," she murmured between sucks and nips, his lips now trailing down her neck, touches becoming more urgent and determined. Her body still bore the faint traces of their lovemaking, and it roused him instantly, tasting evidence of himself on her skin.

"I want a future with you, Mary," he confessed, his mouth still on her shoulder, her fingers pressing into his back. He felt her draw back and cup his face with her hands, losing himself instantly in the depths of dark eyes. "I know our relationship is still relatively young, but…" She stopped him with a kiss that set him on fire everywhere at once. God—he wasn't sure just how she did this to him, but he didn't care. All that mattered was this woman in his arms, this woman who turned his life upside down in an instant, this woman who was now as necessary to his existence as water and air. He couldn't stop touching her, kissing her, exploring skin partially covered in a manner that made him want her even more. He painted her pores with the heat of his mouth, professed his love at the juncture of shoulder and neck, assured her he wasn't going anywhere with a whispered touch to her breast. She arched into him with a shared need growing stronger by the minute, her moan low and guttural, his response swift and hard. He stood, picking her up, feeling her legs wrap around his middle as her arms remained secure around his neck. The trail to her bedroom was covered in haste, and he deposited her gently on to the mattress, looking down at her with something akin to awe.

"I want a future for us, too," she whispered, and he felt his knees nearly buckle at her admission. "For all of us. I want it so badly it terrifies me sometimes."

The mattress gave under his weight as he climbed in beside her, stretching out until they were body to body. He took her hand once more, touching his lips to her knuckles, rubbing them back and forth over bare flesh where her rings used to rest.

"We'll do this together, Mary," he stated. "We'll forge the future we want, you and I. For us and for our girls."

"Do you really think it's possible?" she inquired softly. He kissed the tip of her nose as he stroked hair mussed from sex and foreplay. God—he had never seen her looking more beautiful.

"I do," he assured her, feeling his own fears subside as he spoke. "We've both been hurt terribly, and there's nothing we can do to change that. But that doesn't mean that we have to live our lives constantly waiting for other shoe to drop."

"No," she agreed as her nails etched small circles over his chest. "You're right. Of course you're right."

She picked up his hand and brought it to her mouth, kissing his bare ring finger, her expression heavy with meaning. Her top was then discarded, his boxers tossed to the floor as mouths began a tender exploration of naked terrain. Their lovemaking was gentle yet urgent, a slow burn that simmered until she came undone in his arms, crying out into his skin, riding out her release with breathless pants and muted shudders until she lay sated and spent beneath him. He then lost himself inside her, kissing her repeatedly as he came in a rush of heat and emotion. He got up reluctantly to fetch a towel, using it to wipe himself before nudging it gently between her legs. Her grin was downright wicked, making her resemble a cat who had just finished off a large bowl of fresh cream, and he couldn't help but smile back at her like an idiot as he tossed the now forgotten towel to the floor. He crawled back in beside her, pulling her to his side as he drew the comforter over them snugly, and she laid her head on his chest, her legs tangling with his instinctively until they fit together like a three-dimensional puzzle.

"I'm pretty sure my bed is going to feel horribly empty after tonight," he mused. "I'm already addicted to having you beside me."

He felt her nod against his ribs, inhaling sharply as her lips planted a languid kiss just beside his nipple.

"I know," she sighed. "But I'm almost certain your mother wouldn't approve of constant sleep-overs." He chuckled in agreement, holding her even closer.

"I'd probably get a lecture on responsible parenting," he stated, loving the feel of her laughter rippling against his torso.

"At least she's here and cares enough to interfere," she observed. "That's something to be thankful for, Matthew."

"Your mother loves you," he insisted as he turned his head to gage her expression.

"I know," Mary admitted. "And I love her. But she's in London, and we're not. Anna is far closer to your mother than she is to mine."

A thought struck him and he looked up at the ceiling before giving it voice.

"What about Tony's family? Do you keep in touch with them?"

She raised up on his chest and looked down into his eyes with a slight shrug.

"They're in California," she responded. "And they're nice enough. We exchange birthday and Christmas cards and the occasional text message, but nothing more." She sighed, toying with his slight dusting of chest hair. "We were never particularly close," she continued. "But they were good to me and Anna. Tony left me a decent sum after he died, and his parents made certain there was no interference in my receiving it."

"That was good of them," he echoed as his fingers traced curved lines down her side. "What about Charles's family."

The hurt on her face was obvious, no matter how she tried to mask it. She bit her lower lip, shaking her head before exhaling audibly.

"His mother hates me."

"How in God's name is that possible?" he asked incredulously, turning on his side so he could look at her directly.

"She never liked me, Matthew," she returned. "Colleen Blake is a very manipulative, controlling woman who nearly smothered her only child and tried to run his life for him. It drove Charles insane, and he basically stopped talking to her until she began to treat me with at least some attempt at civility."

"Good for him," Matthew stated. "I can't imagine anyone not absolutely adoring you. Couldn't she see how happy you made her son?" Her rueful smile spoke volumes.

"His father did," she replied. "Sam was always so kind to me. He's so much like Charles—funny, clever, full of life and vigor." She paused, looking down at the rumpled sheets. "It hurt that I never heard from him again after I married Tony. I expected as much from Colleen, but not from Sam."

"Do they know about Anna?" he asked, watching her eyes round immediately.

"Of course they do," she stated emphatically. "They knew we were pregnant before he died. I would never keep them from their own granddaughter, Matthew."

"I know," he backpedaled, wishing he could bite off his tongue. "What I inferred was uncalled for. Forgive me?" She nodded and relaxed towards him again as he rubbed his palm smoothly over her hip.

"I keep sending photographs and Christmas letters," she expounded. "But they're always returned unopened. It's obvious they don't want Anna in their lives, and that just devastates me, Matthew. It's honestly what I dread most in telling her about Charles, having to explain to her at some point why her grandparents don't want to get to know her. How am I supposed to do that?"

He shook his head and swallowed, uncertain of what to say. He silently reminded himself to call his mother in the morning and thank her again for watching the girls tonight.

"I don't know," he replied. "But they're the ones missing out. My mother already thinks of Anna as her own granddaughter, and she'd likely give Colleen a piece of her mind."

"I'd pay good money to see that," Mary stated, the traces of a smile returning to her face.

"So would I," he grinned. "But I think mother might offer us a discount. I do have some pull with her."

She truly laughed then, a throaty, crackling sound that melted him in places he'd forgotten.

"You don't always realize just how important family is until you're without one," she mused. "Anna and I have been on our own for a long time, you know. Having you and Belle and your mother—sometimes I wonder how long it can last."

"As long as you'll have us," he asserted, moving on top of her, claiming her lips in a declaration that sealed matters for him. "I'm not going anywhere, Mary, even if my family gets a little overwhelming at times." Her fingers danced across his face, moving into his hair as she reached up and kissed him fully. He could still taste the salt from her tears, could still sense her insecurities now bare at the surface.

"Overwhelm me anytime," she breathed as she nudged his cheek with her nose before drawing his bottom lip through her teeth. He growled unexpectedly, feeling her lips tug upwards and her nose crinkle.

"You can't be ready for another round," he declared, a sound between a hiss and a snort coming out of his nose as she reached for him, clasping her fingers around what was now spent and limp.

"I take it you're not," she grinned slyly, moving her other hand around to cup his ass, giving him a playful pinch on the cheek. She squealed as his fingers moved to her armpits, and he tickled her mercilessly until she nearly bucked him out of the bed.

"I think I'm a lost cause," he confessed breathlessly. "You, on the other hand…" His fingers moved deliberately between her legs, unable to take his eyes from her face as it clenched and released at his touch. He rubbed and swirled her wetness, taking her nipple into his mouth at her urging, eliciting a deep moan from her gut as one finger moved inside her. "Insatiable woman."

"Do you really mind?" she managed, her tone now husky and full as her hips began to grind rhythmically against his hand.

"I'm thrilled," he mused, kissing her hard as he pushed in deeper. "Although I may need to start seeing a physical therapist."

Laughter spilled out of both of them, and she began to scratch his back lightly.

"God, that's heaven," he moaned as her nails neared his buttocks. He kissed her—he couldn't stop kissing her—and she hummed into him, tongues dancing and licking in a renewed and frenzied swirl of activity.

"Are you sure you're a lost cause?" she questioned, her brow arching playfully.

"Unfortunately, yes," he admitted. "However…" He kissed the underside of her breasts, rubbing his thumb over her nipple as he sucked her skin gently, his lips continuing on a downward path until they touched down just below her naval. "I hope you don't mind if we stop talking now," he murmured, his breath breezing over a forest of black curls, prompting her hips to buck sporadically beneath him. "I need my mouth for other activities at the moment."

Not surprisingly, she didn't mind at all.


	16. Chapter 16

She stretched languidly, her muscles lethargic and heavy in all the right ways. He was there, right next to her, in her bed, naked and warm and everything she wanted.

"Good morning," he hummed into her neck, his voice still groggy with sleep.

"Good morning, yourself," she echoed with a lazy grin, turning towards him until they were nose to nose. "How nice to wake up next to you in my bed."

"How nice to wake up to you naked," he returned, his fingers straying deliberately to her breast, tracing a nipple until it perked up on queue. He gave her that beguiling grin that always got to her, and she couldn't help but toy with that stray lock of hair, smiling back at him as the tips of his ears turned somewhat pink.

"Breast man," she asserted, quirking a brow at his broad smile as he made certain her other nipple wasn't left out of the equation.

"An accusation I shall never deny," he quipped, lowering his face to her chest until he was nudging her with his nose, making her giggle and move underneath him. She tugged his face back towards hers, only to have him touch her nose playfully.

"Don't get too close," he warned. "My morning breath isn't all that wonderful."She smiled broadly, leaning in for a kiss, pressing her tongue into his mouth and making him chuckle.

"Neither is mine," she mused, pulling back just enough. "But I think we'll survive."

That's all the encouragement he needed, and he moved partially on top of her, kissing her with a new connection she felt everywhere at once.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he quipped, nipping her upper lip through his teeth before trailing kisses towards her ear, his fingers refastening themselves to her breast.

"Not a hopeless cause anymore, I take it," she noted as she stroked his length that was starting to press insistently into her stomach.

"Sleep does wonders, you know," he breathed before claiming her mouth yet again. She arched into him and ran her fingers down his spine, gratified by his ragged exhale into her neck. God, she loved this man, loved everything about him—his touch, his goodness, his acceptance of her and her daughter, his eyes and that self-depreciating smile. She held him to her with all that she had, reveling in the heady sensations he had awakened in her, giving back as much as she possibly could, pumping and stroking him until he growled in her mouth.

"If you're this horny before coffee, I'm almost scared to see what caffeine will do to you."She laughed at his comment, and he joined her easily, flopping back down on to the pillow just as her stomach growled loudly.

"See what you did?" she accused. "You mentioned breakfast."He chuckled into her shoulder and rubbed her stomach.

"Should I whip up something for us?" he asked, making her want to forget food as he circled her naval with his finger.

"What did you have in mind?" she queried, unable to stop herself from burying her fingers in his hair.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Pancakes? Sausage?"

"I have bacon," she stated, and he smiled broadly as her finger traced his lips.

"Bacon it is," he returned, raising his eyebrows playfully and nipping her finger. "Any certain type of pancakes?"

"Hmmm…" she pondered. "Circular, golden, fluffy…"

"Alright," he interrupted, tickling her until she squealed. "That's enough."

"You asked," she insisted with a light punch to his arm.

"I meant what variety," he explained. "Belle loves chocolate chip pancakes. I prefer blueberry."

"Ah," she sighed with an exaggerated expression of enlightenment. "Now it all makes sense. You'd like to know what add-ins I'd like in mine."

"Yes," he declared with an eye roll. "Although if you say Skittles, my offer to cook breakfast is off the table."

She laughed again, unable to stop, relishing every second of this lightness and joy she had missed for too long.

"How about pecans?" she asked, allowing her fingers to trail back down to his groin. "I'm having an inexplicable craving for nuts."

"Nuts coated with syrup," he mused, making her bite her lip playfully. "We're pathetic when it comes to food, you know."

"I know," she agreed. "And we haven't even touched German fare."

"Or sushi," he grinned wickedly as her eyes widened.

"I love sushi," she hummed as he took her finger into his mouth yet again, sucking it until her hips rocked up against his leg. God, she was half-tempted to hump his knee.

"I know," he breathed, lightly biting her knuckle. "You've told me—a few times."

"I've heard there's a new place in town," she continued, her eyes rolling back in her head as his mouth worked its magic on her skin. "A hole in the wall…small…no reservations taken…first come, first served…" She broke off as his tongue rolled around her finger, his hands beginning to work on her breast yet again.

"Hole in the wall," he echoed, sliding his finger into her mouth, blatantly encouraging her to suck it. She did with gusto, getting more and more aroused at the way his pupils widened as she licked the length of his digit. He then tugged it away from her teeth and moved it right against her opening, edging his knuckle up against her entrance. "I'm quite fond of holes, you know."

"You made that very apparent last night," she mused, losing all sense of speech as his finger slid inside of her. "And I thought you were going to make pancakes."

"I am," he stated as his mouth lowered slowly to her nipple. "But I thought we'd indulge in some nuts and syrup first. That way we don't get distracted in the kitchen."

"Don't tell me you've never done it on a kitchen counter," she breathed, rocking her hips against his finger in a circular motion.

"Don't tell me you have," he laughed, and she stopped and looked at him directly.

"A few times," she admitted. "And it's glorious."

"I think making love to you anywhere would be glorious," he mused, closing his eyes to her touch on his scalp. "But I've never been adventurous enough to try it on the kitchen counter."

She bit her lip, eyeing him wickedly.

"Then what are we waiting for, Crawley?" she teased, adoring his expression of feigned scandal. "I think it's time to heat up the pots and pans."

* * *

 

   
"These are good," she mused, taking another and rather large bite of her pancakes. "Can I hire you to cook breakfast every weekend?"

"Don't let Belle hear you say that," he grinned, wiping a dollop of maple syrup from her mouth. "She'll have her bags packed and be ready to move in by tomorrow." She smiled back at him shyly, and he couldn't help but wonder at how such a notion struck her. "Of course, it would take me longer to pack," he continued, cutting off another piece of his stack. "But I don't mind cooking with all of the other benefits that would come with it."

"You're awfully presumptuous," she smirked as she attempted to steal a slice of bacon from his plate.

"Says the woman trying to take my bacon," he noted, breaking off a piece of it and handing to her begrudgingly.

"And after what happened on that counter, I don't think I'm being presumptuous at all." She flicked her brows at him, making him both laugh and feel the need kiss the hell out of her. "You're the one who knocked over the utensils," she noted with a quirk of her head.

"True," he admitted. "But just who very nearly broke the coffee pot?"

"That's your version of things," she quipped easily. "I still say I was provoked."

"And I thought I was the attorney," he stated, unable to take his eyes from her. "Remind me never to go up against you in court."

"Never go up against me in court," she repeated as she reached for her coffee mug, ducking the napkin he tossed in her direction. "You told me to remind you," she reminded him pertly. "So what's for lunch?"

"Lunch?" he questioned incredulously. "You're just about to finish off three pancakes and two thirds of the bacon, and you're asking about lunch?"

She looked back at him from underneath her lashes.

"You're the one trying to negotiate residency terms," she tossed back. "I think lunch is a reasonable request, don't you?"

His heart began to thud in his temples as his future flashed in front of his eyes.

"Are you always this demanding?" he inquired, fighting back the urge to muss her hair even further.

"Tip of the iceberg," she stated matter-of-factly as she took another sip of her coffee. "You have been warned."

"Point taken," he observed. "Although you did survive my snoring." He heard a breathy laugh emerge through her nose as she made an exaggerated face in his direction. "Hey—it's not that bad."

"Yes it is," she insisted, making another attempt at his bacon. "Don't delude yourself. Come to think of it, I think you owe me that piece after what I endured last night."

"After what you endured," he tossed back, rolling his eyes. "I think you owe me some syrup, actually. You've been hording it over there for the past ten minutes."

She tossed him a grin so wicked he wanted to eat it before she ran the tip of her finger across what remained of her pancakes.

"You had but to ask," she purred, extending a digit dripping in melted butter and gooey goodness in his direction. He grabbed her hand and pulled it to his mouth, sucking every dollop off of her finger and then some.

"I need more," he hummed as she slowly tugged her finger through his lips.

"Greedy," she quipped, handing him the glass bottle. "Just give it back when you're finished."

"Possessive of the syrup, are we?" he mused, dangling the bottle from his fingertips.

"You'd better believe it," she stated. "You know all about my sweet tooth, and Anna's is just as bad."

"So I've noticed," he returned. "I'll have to lock the sweets away for your own good."

"Don't you dare," she warned. "Even Belle knows where the goodies are stashed around here, and the three of us will come after you if you pull a stunt like that."

"That's a frightening thought," he stated. "The three of you under one roof protecting your sweets."

"We'd be formidable," she mused flatly. "And you must know that I'll train them extensively in utensil warfare."

"Like mother, like daughters," he breathed, catching himself after the words left his mouth. Their eyes locked, their breathing intensifying by the second.

"Something like that," she whispered, her eyes fluttering in time with her sentence. She paused and looked back at him thoughtfully. "Would that bother you—if Belle actually thought of me as her mother?"

His head was shaking before his voice found him again.

"No," he stated, his heart doing an odd somersault in his chest. "In many ways, she already does, and she never knew Lavinia. I won't let her forget her, by any means, but…"  
He stopped, taking her hand and bringing her palm to his mouth. "I want Belle to have a mother," he managed, his throat constricting in spite of himself. "She needs one. I do my best, you know, but a little girl needs a mother—a mother like you." He kissed her palm again, keeping a hold of her hand as he took a drink of his coffee, trying to regain at least a fragment of his composure.

She seemed to have lost a bit of her own at his declaration, and he heard her inhale deeply before taking a sip from her mug.

"How do you feel about the possibility of me becoming Anna's father?" He saw a glimmer of moisture in her eyes, one she fought back stubbornly as she cleared her throat. "You'd be perfect for her," she voiced softly. "For both of us, actually." Her brow creased in thought. "But first she has to know about her biological father, I think."

"I agree," he confirmed. "She deserves that."Mary smiled at this, intertwining her fingers with his.

"Yes, she does." She paused momentarily before giving him a glance he couldn't' quite make out. "Anna asked what she should get you for Christmas, you know," she volunteered, making his brows fly up. "She saw a commercial about daddies getting a lot of neckties and wondered if that would be the right present for you, but then said she wasn't sure it would be because you weren't her daddy yet."

"Yet," he repeated thoughtfully, the impact of that word smacking him soundly in the gut. "God, Mary."

"I know," she whispered as the air around them became thicker. They stared at each other thoughtfully, coffee and pancakes all but forgotten.

"And what did you tell her?" he finally questioned, his voice as unsteady as his insides. "About the necktie?"

"That she should get you your own supply of maple syrup, instead," she grinned, earning herself a bemused chuckle. She rose and kissed him across the table then, low and luxurious, sampling his lower lip as she might a chocolate soufflé.

  
"Are we insane for even discussing something like this so early on?" he asked as they drew back from each other and sat down in their chairs, reaching for the other's hand simultaneously. "Moving in together, marriage, parenting each other's children?"

  
She smiled at him, her eyes dropping to her plate for a fraction of a moment.

  
"I don't know," she shrugged. "With Charles, it happened fairly quickly and was an easy decision. There were just the two of us, you know." He watched her eyes flicker, appreciating the openness with which they could now discuss her past. "He was staying over all the time, we loved each other, so it made sense for him to move in. But we had no children to consider at the time."

  
"That changes everything, doesn't it?" he asked, watching her nod slowly in response. "Our girls are as much a part of our relationship as we are."

  
"That's the most frightening part to me," she added. "That something might happen between us, that something might go wrong. How in God's name would we explain that to them, Matthew? They would be crushed."

He shook his head deliberately, unwilling to entertain such thoughts.

  
"To be honest, I think they'd be crushed if that happened already," he answered, rubbing his thumb over her hand. "As would I." Her eyes dropped as she stroked his inner palm with her fingers. "So we just commit to not letting anything come between us. I can't imagine we would face anything we couldn't manage to work through together."

  
"Neither can I," she admitted as her shoulders relaxed visibly.

  
"I was serious last night when I said that I wanted a future with you, Mary. Very serious." He watched her swallow and bite her lower lip.

"So was I," she agreed without hesitation. "Just not so certain about how everything should be timed and played out."

"That's the tricky business, isn't it?" he questioned. "Knowing what to do when, how to progress with two children and two families when I'd like nothing better than to just take you back to bed for the rest of the day and kiss you all over."

"I wouldn't protest if you did," she mused, tossing him a coy glance. "But timing is tricky. Moving in together is a huge step, and I think it could confuse our girls if we're not careful. If we all lived together, it would be the same as us getting married and becoming a permanent family in their eyes, and we need to be absolutely certain that we're going to be one before we risk their expectations."

"I agree," he returned, bringing back that smile of hers that lit him up all over. "Although Belle's been certain for ages." She laughed outright, squeezing his hand, capturing even more of his heart in the process. "And I'm close, you know, Mary. Extremely close."

"To what?" she questioned, her brows creasing back at him.

"To forever."

He watched her eyes round in surprise and then soften, the impact of his confession settling in bit by bit.

"So am I, Matthew," she admitted slowly. "And that amazes me." She licked her lips, her face creasing in thought. "A few months ago I wouldn't have believed this was possible again. And now here I am discussing the possibility of marriage and blending our families."

"I know," he agreed. "Believe me. You've taken me by surprise in all the right ways."

"Kitchen counters and all?" she quipped, her sly grin making him warm from neck to toe.

"Kitchen counters and all," he breathed, leaning over the table for a quick kiss. "I love that you shake me up and challenge me over and over again. I love that you make me laugh and refuse to let me take myself too seriously. I love how you cherish my daughter and my mother. I just love you, Mary."

He heard her sniff back a tear as her gaze fell to their hands.

"And I love you," she returned, moving from her seat to sit on his lap, her proximity making him feel light and heavy at the same time. "So very, very much. And I don't want you to leave today, you know. It's going to be difficult to let you walk out that door."

"I don't want to go, either," he confessed as his forehead touched hers. "But I think Mother might have something to say about that."

"How shocking," she grinned just before she claimed his mouth and he pulled her close, her oversized shirt bunching around her hips provocatively. The sweet memory of syrup lingered on her tongue, and he imbibed in its flavor, cupping the back of her head, holding her to him with everything he had.

"I'm going to tell her today, I think," Mary breathed as their lips parted. He shook his head, trying to register her words through the kiss-induced fog in his brain.

"Anna, you mean?" he asked, seeing her nod in response. "About her father?" She nodded in confirmation, and he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.  
"I'm glad," he returned. "It will be so good for both of you to have her past out in the open."

  
She bit her lip again.

  
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't terrified."

He held her close, losing his fingers in her hair, feeling so much it was nearly overwhelming.

"Would you like me to stay here when you do?" he asked with some hesitation. "I know this is something the two of you should discuss alone, but I can be close at hand if you need me." The depth of feeling in her eyes nearly knocked him from his seat.

"No," she returned softly, trying to disguise the slight tremor in her hands. "No. This has to be between Anna and me. And Charles."

"And Charles," he echoed, smiling back at her warmly, wishing he could take away some of her fears. "You can do this, Mary. I have complete faith in you. And so would he."

"I wish I did," she returned, leaning in to his kiss as he drank her in slowly and completely.

"You should. You can," he insisted, touching her nose lightly.

"But what if she's upset?" Mary asked, her voice barely audible. "What if she can't forgive me?" Her face had gone white, her fingers now cool to the touch.

"Anna loves you," he insisted, taking both of her hands and holding them fast. "You're her mother. There is no question that she will forgive you."

"She's spent her entire life believing a lie," she stated. "And that's my fault—nobody's but mine." He grasped her hands tighter, bringing them to his chest.

"Because you were put in an incomprehensible situation," he assured her, willing her to meet his eyes. "Any mistakes you made were well-meant, and she'll understand that. Anna knows how much you love her, and I think she'll be fascinated to find out more about her father."

"I shouldn't have gone with Tony's wishes and asserted my own, instead," she stated. "But when he was killed, I felt so guilty that I just went on with things the way they had been."

"Mary," he interrupted, finally getting her full attention. "You don't have to justify yourself to me. I understand, and so will Anna. She's young and readily accepting of new things at this stage of her life. Believe in yourself and trust your daughter. Alright?"

She stared back at him, leaning her forehead against his, laying her palms flush against his chest.

"Alright," she agreed softly. He kissed her then, the pressure of her lips upon his no more than that of a whisper.

"You should also frame that picture of you and Charles together and give it to her to put in her bedroom. I think she'd like that."

Her fresh tears nearly undid him.

"So do I," she agreed with a sniff. "And it would mean everything to me." Then she was hugging him, allowing him to draw her into his chest and hold her with everything he had. He breathed in her hair, stroking its texture, pressing his assurance into her skin and spirit. "Belle has one of Lavinia by her bead, I've noticed."

He caressed her back, feeling her ease into him bit by bit.

"Yes," he affirmed, cupping her cheek. "She has asked so many questions about her over the years: what she was like, how tall she was, if she liked ice cream."

"That last one is very important," she added with a choked laugh into his shoulder, her tears dampening his skin.

"Vital," he agreed. "And it was Butter Pecan."

"Ah," she hummed. "Charles was a Chocolate and Peanut Butter kind of man."

"He and Belle would get along fabulously," he noted with a grin. "And you?"

"I have many favorites when it comes to ice cream," she stated. "As does Anna. But our absolute favorite would have to be Black Raspberry Chocolate Chip."

"I should have known your favorite would have more syllables than should be legal for a dessert," he quipped, earning himself a slight shove before she wiped her cheeks.

"I suppose yours is vanilla?" she tossed back, her voice holding a slight challenge.

"No," he denied flatly. "It's not. Its' strawberry, actually."

She laughed for some reason, the lilt of it warming his soul, and he joined her until he could stand it no longer and kissed her instead. She tugged at his lower lip, licking and claiming him, rocking on his lap until he was panting for breath yet again.

"These boxers aren't used to this kind of workout," he noted, daring to slide his hand under her nightshirt and caress her stomach. "They're likely to come apart at the seams if you keep pushing their limits."

"Perhaps you should get some new ones," she murmured. "Do they make an extra-strength variety?"

"I'm thinking industrial strength might be more appropriate," he chuckled, and her head fell to his shoulder as laughter shook them both again. He stared at her in wonder, this woman who had changed his life in so many ways, the gift he vowed to treasure and hold with every ounce of strength he could muster. "It's strange, don't you think?" he began, shivering at the feel of her arms wrapping around his neck. "I still miss Lavinia, still hurt over losing her, but..." He broke off, taking a deep breath before allowing himself to continue. "I wouldn't trade this—what we have, what we've found together—for anything."

  
Her eyes began to fill once more as she nodded in agreement.

"I know," she managed, her voice raspy and deep. "I'll always love Charles, and a part of me will always grieve his loss. But this is my everything now. You, Anna and Belle." She gazed into him in a way that only she could, targeting parts of him that seemed to exist simply for her. "And I don't feel guilty about it, not like I did with Tony. I know this is what Charles would want for me, that he would encourage me to move on and love again." She paused to lean in closer until they were nose to nose. "And I know he'd like you."

He smiled everywhere at once, feeling more than he could adequately speak.

"You're just the kind of mother Lavinia would want for Belle," he stated, and she leaned back in order to look at him. "And I know she'd be thrilled for Belle to have a sister. We were both only children, and she didn't want that for our daughter."

She exhaled thoughtfully and shook her head.

"I never thought I'd consider myself lucky," she mused, and he nodded back slowly. "Not after Charles died, at least."

"Neither did I," he admitted. "In fact there were times during the past two and a half years that I reveled in feeling sorry for myself." He took her hands again, bringing both of them to his lips. "I think it took you to remind me how lucky I really am, you know."

She kissed him gently, stroking his cheek as she gazed at him in wonder.

"Aren't we the lucky ones?" she questioned, her voice breaking on the final word.

"Yes," he answered softly. "We are."

* * *

  
"I can't find my Elsa doll, Mommy."

  
Mary took a deep breath, setting Anna's memory box on the coffee table, staring at it as if it were alive and breathing.

"Didn't you take it to Mrs. Crawley's last night?" she asked her daughter rather absently. "So you and Belle could play Frozen?"

Anna walked down the steps, stopping half-way down to gape at her mother whose mind was suspended somewhere between the past and the present.

"Oh, yeah," she mused. "I did."

"So it's probably still in your overnight bag," Mary pointed out logically, the box gazing back at her as whispers of Charles's voice played in her mind. Dear God, please let this conversation with her daughter go well. Please. "Did you have fun playing with your Anna and Elsa dolls?"

The words were uttered automatically, a question to which Mary expected a simple response.

She didn't get one.

"We did until Belle started trying to hog Olaf." Anna's face scrunched up into an expression that resembled the Grinch on a particularly bad day. "Then it wasn't any fun at all."

"Isn't Olaf her doll?" Mary clarified, her hands ceasing their nervous motion as her daughter commanded her full attention.

"Yes," Anna admitted. "But we were taking turns with him. Until Belle decided she wasn't going to anymore."

"Oh," Mary returned, eyeing her daughter keenly. "So you and Belle had a bit of a falling out last night, I take it?"

Anna stared back at her in silence, her expression nearly as unmoving as her mother's.

"She was being unfair," Anna insisted, Mary's brow moving higher at her defensiveness. "It was my turn to play with Olaf, but she kept trying to get him to do a flip over the cushions. And when he did, she wanted to do it again. She wouldn't give him to me."

"And?" Mary questioned, her arms now crossed over her chest, fishing for what she knew her daughter wasn't telling her. Anna blinked at her and gave her a slight shrug, confirming her mother's instinct that there was far more to the story than she was letting on.

"And nothing," Anna murmured as her eyes drew paths across the floor.

"So if I call Mrs. Crawley and ask…"

"I just took him, that's all," Anna gushed, her gaze falling to her feet. "It was my turn, and Belle wouldn't share, so I took him. And Belle had to cry about it."

Puzzle pieces began to fit together, and she sighed heavily.

"So when someone doesn't share with us, we just take what we want?" Mary asked. She moved towards her daughter, Anna knowing better than to move.

"No," the girl admitted grudgingly. "But…"

"What did Mrs. Crawley do?" Mary questioned, watching Anna's cheeks puff out in frustration. "When you took Olaf and Belle started crying?"

"She toomdorlfjwaybth…"

"Excuse me," Mary interrupted. "Please speak so I can understand you."

"She took Olaf away from both of us," Anna confessed with a loud sigh. "And told us if we couldn't play nicely together, we could do the dishes instead."

It was impossible to completely suppress the smile pulling on her lips, but Mary managed admirably, clearing her throat to aid her in maintaining as straight a face as she could manage.

"So what did you do?" she asked her daughter. "Work it out or wash dishes?"

Anna huffed and puffed like an exasperated she-wolf, rolling her eyes until she rather resembled a grumpy chipmunk in dire need of haircut.

"We worked it out."

The child shifted from one foot to the other, and Mary mused that if she didn't know better, she'd swear Anna was about to wet her pants.

"Good," Mary nodded, fixing her daughter with a look. "I'm glad to hear it."

Anna slowly made her way down the remaining steps, her straight hair looking as if it hadn't been combed in days, her feet making far more noise that necessary on their journey.

"Are you still pouting, Anna Blake?" Mary questioned, seeing overly-dramatic storm clouds brewing across her daughter's displeased face. The girl shook her head vehemently, making her tangles all the more pronounced in the process.

"I'm not pouting," Anna insisted, her bottom lip extended further than should be legal for a five year old. "Why do you always think I'm pouting?"

"I don't," Mary interjected, trying to regain control of her daughter's emotions, remembering Isobel's whispered words of caution that she feared the girls had actually slept very little. Of course, she hadn't slept all that much herself, she mused, her face flushing just slightly at exactly what, or rather who, had kept her awake during much of the night. Perhaps a nap would do them both some good, especially before she opened a window to her daughter's past that could never be refastened.

  
"But you are pouting now, and I believe you could use some sleep," Mary stated, a yawn hitting her unexpectedly. Anna immediately copied her mother, her face stretching in such an exaggerated manner that she rather resembled a sculpture formed from Silly Putty.

"I'm not sleepy," the girl protested, rubbing her eyes extensively, damning her own cause.

"But I am," Mary reasoned. "And I could use the company. How about it?"

Anna sighed yet again, understanding hers was a hopeless battle, and she took her mother's hand as they walked to her bedroom and snuggled deep into the mattress. Mary wrapped her up in her arms, cradling her as she often did when Anna had difficulty sleeping, stroking her matted hair, promising herself for at least the twentieth time that she would call and make an appointment for both of them to get much-needed trims sometime next week.

"Mommy," Anna muttered, turning until her small face was aligned perfectly with her mother's chest. "Do sisters fight a lot?"

A puff of laughter flew out Mary's nose, thoughts of her own sister pushing into the forefront of her mind. Edith—the woman she would never understand, the woman with whom she rarely made contact.

"They can," Mary answered, understanding that far more lay beneath her daughter's inquiry than a simple discussion of sibling relations. Anna and Belle were now far more like sisters than best friends, an adjustment both beautiful and taxing, she knew, and one that bolstered the stakes of her own relationship with Matthew exponentially. "Edith and I certainly did, but it doesn't mean we don't love each other."

"We never see Aunt Edith," Anna mused, and Mary drew her closer, feeling a sting of guilt whenever her relationship with her sister was mentioned.

"Not often," Mary answered. "But she lives far away, and she's very busy with her own life and career."

Anna nodded, seemingly satisfied with this explanation, at least for the moment, and Mary exhaled audibly, inhaling the remnants of Matthew's scent on her pillow. Thank God Anna hadn't noticed.

"If you and Mr. Matthew get married and Belle and I become real sisters, does that mean we'll fight all the time?" Anna questioned, obviously distressed by this thought.

"No," Mary assured her. "But you'll probably fight more than you would if you weren't sisters simply because you'd be living together. That happens, you know."

"I don't like fighting with Belle," Anna stated flatly. "It hurt my feelings."

"I imagine it does," Mary agreed. "And I'm sure it hurts her feelings, too."

She heard her daughter sniffle then, soft tears beginning to trickle down rounded cheeks, and she pulled her flush to her body, kissing the top of her head, attempting to soothe her cries with soft shushes and gentle strokes.

"So everything's ruined," Anna gurgled, catching her breath in snatches against her mother's shirt. "If you and Mr. Matthew get married, then Belle and I can't be friends anymore, and we'll fight. But if Belle and I stay friends, then Mr. Matthew can never be my daddy." Sniffles turned into sobs, and the girl's small body shook, her limbs curling up into a compact ball as fists rubbed her cheeks and her nose ran freely. Mary reached behind her with one hand, pulling out three tissues and wiping her daughter's face, placing one into Anna's hands so she could blow her own nose, which she did with surprising force for a Kindergartner.

"That's not true," Mary countered, cupping the back of Anna's head with her palm. "It would just mean that if we get married, we'd have to learn to be a family rather than just friends. That just takes some time."

"But you and Mr. Matthew are already more than friends," Anna stated, her eyes red and puffy. "You love each other. I can tell."

Mary sighed again, wishing this conversation were taking place when her child was well-rested rather than caught in the throes of exhaustion. But the door had been thrown open, and to ignore or attempt to redirect her now would do nothing but increase Anna's paranoia.

"We do," Mary affirmed. She traced her daughter's cheek then, amazed by how little actually got past the keen observance of children. "We love each other very much, and we've talked about what it would mean if we all became a family."

Anna gazed back at her wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

"What did he say?" the girl whispered, propping her small body up on her elbow. "About me? About being my daddy? Does he want to? Does he think I'll be a good daughter? I mean, he already has Belle, and what if he's mad at me for making her cry last night? What if I did ruin everything?" A fresh wave of sobs shook the girl, and Mary drew her closer, feeling Anna's exhaustion and fear.

"You haven't ruined anything," Mary assured her, tipping up her chin so she could look into her eyes. "I promise. And Mr. Matthew adores you, Anna. He will be thrilled to be your daddy if we get married."

The girl sniffed and hiccuped, rubbing her lips together and swallowing several times.

"Are you sure?" Anna questioned. "I mean, I don't really know what it's like to have a daddy. What if I mess it up?"

"You won't," Mary stated. "You can't. I promise." Anna nodded silently, yawning again, wiping her dampened face with her sleeve. "Just rest," Mary whispered, bringing Anna's head to her chest, drawing  an extra blanket around them until they were snugly tucked into their own quilted cocoon. "We can talk more once you've gotten some sleep."

"But I'm not tired," Anna protested yet again, her eyes already drooping to half-mast, her breathing evening out little by little.

"I know, sweetheart," Mary yawned, allowing her own eyes to shut as she gave in to the tantalizing lure of sleep, feeling her body go heavy and limp limb by limb. "Neither am I."

* * *

 

 

Her eyes batted heavily, her body attached to the mattress, her mind drifting somewhere in the foggy realm between sleep and consciousness. She tugged the blanket up around her shoulders, unwilling to budge just yet, warm from the inside out and reveling in the sensation. Arms stretched out to hug Anna close, finding a formless blanket in her place, pushing Mary to sit up instantly as she looked around the empty bedroom for her daughter.

  
"Anna?" she called out, blinking the bleariness from her eyes. There was no answer, not that she had expected one. She roused her body from bed, stretching and running fingers through her sleep-mussed hair as she made her way out her bedroom door and down the small hallway, stopping short at the sight greeting her from the family room. Anna was sitting on the couch, her box wide open, the photograph of Mary and Charles in her hands. Oh, God. She hadn't planned on beginning things like this.

"Who's this, Mommy?"

Her vision blurred as Anna held the picture up in her direction, her legs so stiff she wondered if they'd rusted in place. She walked to the couch and sat beside her, reminding herself to breathe in and out, wishing she had practiced just how to approach this conversation a bit more thoroughly.

"He's someone I've been wanting to tell you about, Anna," Mary began, her tongue two sizes too large for her mouth. "Someone I should have told you about earlier."

Anna's brow flickered upward.

"You don't have another boyfriend, do you?" the girl questioned, the expression of judgmental horror on her face almost comical.

"No, no," Mary assured her. "Nothing like that. Well, not now, anyway."

"Is he an old boyfriend?" Anna asked, staring at the photograph with renewed interest. Mary's pulse was now throbbing in her temples, her hands flexing in and out.

"Yes," Mary breathed, touching the picture's rim. "A very special one whom I loved very, very much." She was shaking inside, wrapping her arms about Anna in an attempt to steady herself.

"Wow," Anna whispered, her eyes darting back from her mother's to the photo. "Why didn't you get married?"

Her eyes began to well, her throat thickening as her heart wound itself around each and every rib.

"We were going to," Mary explained. "In fact, we were engaged in that picture."

"Is that why you look so happy?" Anna inquired, leaning back as a tear fell down her mother's cheek. Mary nodded—it was all she could do at the moment. "What happened, Mommy? Why didn't you marry him?"

"He died, sweetheart," Mary managed, pushing herself over the catch in her voice. "A few weeks before our wedding."

She heard Anna's intake of breath, saw her eyes widen upon impact.

"Just like Daddy," Anna breathed, staring back at her mother, so open, so innocent.

"Anna," Mary began, a roar building in her head that nearly made her dizzy. "There's something I have to tell you. Something very important."

The girl nodded, her gaze never wavering.

"That man," Mary voiced. "In the picture. His name is Charles Blake." She paused, watching Anna carefully.

"Blake," Anna mused with a small grin. "Like my middle name."

"Yes," Mary whispered, another tear falling down to her lap, leaving a damp circle on her pants. "You were named after him, my darling." She continued to stroke the girl's hair, its tangled texture somehow a small comfort to nerves pounding on overdrive.

"After him?" Anna asked, sitting up a bit taller as she stared at the photo with even more interest. "Why?"

She saw nothing but her daughter, heard nothing but her pulse.

"Because," Mary began, breathing out through her lips, her hands trembling badly. "He's your father."

Anna turned her face on her mother's immediately, blinking repeatedly, breathing in and out.

"You mean my real daddy?"

"Yes," Mary returned quietly. "Your real daddy."

Anna was examining the picture now, a small finger reaching out to trace his face, to make contact with the man who had given her life.

"Was he good?" Anna questioned, pulling a laugh from her mother that made her feel ten pound lighter.

"Yes, sweetheart," Mary gushed, kissing the top of her head, wetting her scalp without meaning to do so. "He was very good. One of the best men I've ever known."

Anna continued to stare at the photograph, tilting her head until it was at the same angle as her father's.

"Did he love me?"

Anna's question pulled her in half, making her feel completely hollow yet filled to the brim.

"Oh, yes," Mary answered, continuing to stroke her daughter's hair. "So much. So very, very much."

Anna smiled at this, her eyes never roving from the photograph of her parents.

"How do you know?" Anna inquired, nibbling her lower lip. "Did he tell you?"

"Over and over again," Mary answered. "From the moment I told him you were growing in my tummy until the very last minute that a saw him alive." He'd been smiling, had kissed her, his hand stroking her barely rounded midriff with wonder in his eyes.

"How did he die?" Anna questioned. "Was he in Afghanistan like Dad—"

She faltered, looking up at her mother with eyes crooked into a question.

"No," Mary replied, bracing herself for more difficult questions. "He had something called an aneurysm. It killed him very quickly, so he didn't feel any pain." She touched her father's face once again, frowning back up at her mother in confusion.

"Oh," Anna breathed, her face falling somewhat. "I guess that's good—that he didn't hurt or anything, if he had to die, I mean."

She felt a bit like a wrung-out dishrag, squeezed and tugged in too many directions, rubbed to the point of being raw.

"Yes," Mary managed, her breath jagged and rough as sandpaper. "It is."

The injustice of it all struck her again, making her head spin and her limbs shake like jello. God, a five year old shouldn't have to be this closely acquainted with death. It just wasn't right.

"So what about my other daddy?" Anna began. "The one in the wedding pictures?"

She was hot all of a sudden, although her toes and fingers were nearly numb from cold, as if they'd been submerged in ice water while the rest of her body baked in a warm oven.

"Tony," Mary clarified. "He was a friend of your father's, actually, and a very kind man. He knew I was going to have a baby, and he didn't want you to grow up without a father. So he asked me to marry him. He wanted to take care of us."

"That was nice," Anna mused, her brows still scrunched together like a crumpled up napkin. "But what do I call him? I mean…its kind of tricky now."

She wanted to laugh and weep, and what emerged from her chest was an odd sort of squeak that reminded her of a panicked chipmunk.

"Well," Mary sighed, breathing deeply. "I'm not sure. What would you like to call him?"

Small lips jutted forward as Anna's head tilted towards her mother.

"Papa Tony," Anna stated with a decisive nod. She then held her prized photograph closer to her chest, angling it so Mary could see it clearly. "And Charles is my daddy."

She couldn't speak—it was impossible, and a sob tore from her throat as she pulled Anna into a tight hug. The girl's arms responded in kind, holding her mother closer, snuggling her face into her chest.

"There's more in the box," Mary stated as they drew back slowly. "Things I saved for you when you were old enough to understand."

Anna sat up taller, curling her feet under her knees.

"Like what?" she questioned, peering over the rim with the eagerness of a puppy set loose in a park.

"Like this," Mary answered, pulling out a stack of photographs bound together by red ribbon, ones that traced their dating history from its inception until its untimely end.

"Wow," Anna breathed again, holding them as if they were forged from pure gold. She ran the ribbon through her fingers, memorizing its texture, seemingly unwilling to unbind it just yet.

"And this," Mary continued, withdrawing a monogrammed handkerchief that made her daughter gasp as she took it from her.

"It smells good," Anna stated, breathing in the soft material.

"It smells like your father," Mary returned, her voice evening out breath by breath. Anna smiled then—the smile of Charles Blake—the one that always struck Mary between the ribs with the force of a bolt of lightning. "And he bought this for you."

"For me?" Anna questioned, laying her accumulated treasure in her lap and extending her hands towards her mother. A small pink bear was placed in her grasp, and Anna beamed down at it as if it were magical.

"Your daddy always knew you were going to be a girl," Mary continued, touching the stuffed animal's head. "I kept trying to convince him that you might be a boy, but he wouldn't listen to me." Anna giggled then, kissing the bear on the forehead.

"He was right," she asserted, grinning back at her mother.

"Yes," Mary affirmed. "He was." She then reached in and withdrew the letter, one she had replaced in its original envelope. "This is for you, too, Anna."

"A letter?" the girl beamed, her eyes fluttering in excitement. "He wrote me a letter? Really?"

"Yes," Mary assured her, gulping down a fresh stream of tears. It hit her, then, that Tony had never written to Anna, that he hadn't left any memento to her in particular. Yes—he had left them a nice financial settlement. Yes—he had given the girl his last name and his affection, had held her and burped her and even rocked her on occasion. But this letter from Charles was something from Anna's father directly to her, and her eagerness in receiving it clearly exposed her heart.

This meant everything to her.

"Read it, Mommy," she instructed as Mary withdrew the letter from its envelope, leaning over to see the writing for herself. She was bouncing and squeezing Mary's arm, her enthusiasm infectious and possibly just enough to keep her mother's voice from cracking open.

"My dearest child," Mary began, pausing to inhale as she always did when she read the note. "Today I saw your mommy's tummy, and for the first time I could tell you were actually there." Her hand flitted down to her abdomen unconsciously, remembering how he loved to stroke her pregnant belly, even when it was completely flat. "How I wish I could hold you in my arms right now, but I'm willing to wait, to watch you grow inside your mother, to feel you kick against her stomach and poke under her ribs. I've never been as excited about anything in my life as I am about marrying your mother and meeting you."

  
She paused to look down at her daughter, her heart nearly bursting at the look of awe and reverence on Anna's face.

"I think you're a little girl, you know, although if I'm wrong I'll destroy this letter and write you a new one. But if I'm right, as I believe that I am, I must tell you, my darling daughter, that I will love and protect you for the rest of my life and beyond. Never doubt that you have a father who loves you, even when you grow older and believe, somewhat justifiably, that all adults are stupid, even if we argue about boys and car keys. You are already the light in my eyes, and one day I hope to dance with you at your wedding just like I first danced with your mother at a wedding reception not too long ago. I fell in love with her that night, the very moment I held her in my arms. God only knows what she ever saw in a man like me."

Anna giggled then, touching the ivory stationary, tracing the black ink as it swirled across the page. He was there, Mary realized slowly, so present with them now, finally allowed to dwell in his daughter's heart and mind as he had been in hers all these years. A peace she'd forgotten nearly sucked the wind from her lungs, making her feel weightless, as if she were floating to Neverland with her daughter in tow.

"If you ever need me—for anything at all," Mary continued. "Don't hesitate to ask. And if life ever separates us for reasons unknown, ask anyway. I'll be here. I love you, my darling girl, and I always will. Your Loving Daddy."

The final words were a whisper, and she could almost feel his breath on her neck as his last letter was read to his child in the manner of a benediction. Anna took the note haltingly, gazing at cursive she could not yet read but feeling the impact of emotions written all the same.

"He was good, wasn't he," the girl breathed, holding the note to her chest, eyes so like his pressing into her mother's soul.

"He was very good," Mary affirmed, warming all over as Anna melted into her side. The two of them sat there like that as minutes ticked by, connected inextricably to each other and to a man who had loved them both.

"Why didn't you tell me about him before?" Anna finally asked.

"I'm not sure," Mary answered honestly. "At first, I thought it might be confusing to you because I was married to Tony, and he was acting like your father. And then when he died, I…I…" She sighed, knowing she had no real excuse on which to stand. "I was just afraid, I think," Mary admitted. "I wasn't sure how you'd react, I was afraid you wouldn't understand. It was wrong of me, though."  
She took Anna's hand and leaned forward in her seat, pulling a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "I should have told you a long time ago," Mary continued, staring at the letter still clasped to her daughter's chest. "And I'm sorry that I didn't."

  
Her heart fluttered in her ribs, a warm chill running up and down her legs at this life-altering juncture in their lives.

"It's ok," Anna smiled with a small shrug. "I forgive you." She then raised up on her knees, her treasures spilling down into the couch cushions as she threw her arms about her mother's neck. This was her everything, Mary knew—her daughter, her past finally making peace with her present, her hopes for the future with a man and little girl who wanted a mother just as badly as Anna craved a father. Her child's forgiveness poured over her limbs like holy water, making her quiver as years of tension began to unravel. They clung to each other, mother and child, holding on as if this connection were the only thing preventing them from floating out of their bodies and up to the ceiling. Anna then pulled back, reclaiming her gifts, her small body plopping down into the cushions.

"What about Mr. Matthew? Does he know I have a real daddy?"

"He does," Mary assured her. "And he agreed that you needed to know all about him, just like Belle knows about her mother." She watched as Anna's facial muscles moved, processing this information before nodding in understanding.

"And he won't mind if he's my third daddy?" Anna questioned.

"No, sweetheart," Mary answered. "I promise you that he won't mind at all."

"Wait until I show all of this to Belle," Anna beamed, grabbing the box and replacing each item within its protective confines. But the bear she kept with her, tucking it under her arm as she gazed back at her mother, her dark eyes nearly dancing. "She won't believe it!"

"She'll be so happy for you," Mary returned, a sneaky tear escaping out of the far crease of her eye. Now her daughter had a past she could touch and share, one she could wrap around her like a warm blanket when life threw her the inevitable curve balls. Thank God for Charles's forethought that had just given his daughter such tangible reminders of the man who gave her life.

Anna nodded, her wild locks framing her face a bit like a wilted lion's mane.

"Can we call her?" Anna inquired. "I want Belle to meet Charles." She then held up the pink bear, kissing its head with a muted giggle. "And Mrs. Crawley, too!"

"You're naming your bear Charles?" Mary asked, swallowing down an ill-timed hiccup. Anna nodded eagerly, hopping to her feet just before she retrieved her father's handkerchief, wrapping the pink bear up in it like a hot pink burrito before snuggling it to her cheek.

"What else would I name it?" the girl asked, skipping off to the kitchen counter to retrieve her mother's cell phone. She found the Crawley's number on speed-dial before thrusting it in Mary's hand, her earlier argument with Belle now apparently forgotten. Mary nodded her assent, and Anna pushed the button, practically bouncing in place as she waited for someone to answer.

"Nobody's there," she stated with a frown, returning the phone to her mother. "Where are they?"

"I don't know," Mary answered. "But we'll talk with them later. Maybe we can invite them over and order a pizza tonight."

"That sounds great," Anna replied, pausing to catch her breath. She darted towards the stairs, only to stop mid-stride as something obviously occurred to her. "Mommy—do I have new grandparents, too?"

Damn it, there it was, what she had dreaded the most in opening the door to Anna's past.

"You do," Mary answered, sighing audibly. "But I haven't heard from them in a long time."

"Why not?" Anna questioned, clearly confused by this turn of events. "Do they live far away?"

If only it were that simple.

"Somewhat," Mary sighed, standing and moving to stand by her daughter. "We just haven't spoken much since your father died, sweetheart." Anna nodded, her lips pursing until they resembled those of a goldfish.

"We should write them a Christmas card, then," the girl reasoned with a slight shrug. "I'll draw them a picture, and you can put on the address."

  
Her stomach rolled over, her fingers suddenly frozen. Damn it, Anna was happy, was elated over learning about her real father. Why the hell should Colleen Blake be allowed to ruin this moment for the granddaughter she refused to acknowledge? She stared back into eyes full of hope, the dark eyes of a man she loved long ago, a man who would have treasured his child to the moon and back. Anger at a woman she hadn't seen in six years faded somewhat, morphing into a prayer of desperation, one pleading for a seal of protection that would encase her daughter's fragile heart.

  
"We can try," Mary smiled, forcing a smile on to her face. Anna squealed and hugged her neck, her heart full of an eagerness Mary wished she could share. "We can always try."


	17. Chapter 17

"Matthew," Isobel called out. "We need to leave soon, you know."

"I know, mother," he replied from upstairs. "Mary and I will be there in a moment."

She eyed the staircase before glancing at her watch, shaking her head before sitting down on the sofa.

"Mommy's always late," Anna stated before plopping down on her left. "You'll get used to it."

"But you're not?" Isobel questioned, smiling as the girl shook her head decisively.

"No," Anna answered. "I'm always on time."

"You are not!" Belle called out, moving out from behind the Christmas tree by the front window. "You're always late, too, Anna."

"Am not," Anna insisted. "I just can't drive. That's all."

"Which is not your fault," Isobel noted, holding her arm out for Belle to join the two of them on the sofa. Her granddaughter dashed in their direction, sliding onto the cushion beside her, immediately beginning to fiddle with the gold broach on Isobel's blazer.

"Where did you get this?" Belle asked.

"It was a gift from your grandfather," Isobel noted, a smile creeping into her tone. "Many years ago."

"It's pretty," Anna observed, reaching out to stroke bejeweled surface, tracing the lines of what looked almost like an elaborate Christmas star. "And shiny."

"Yes," Isobel agreed, mesmerized herself as the stones sparkled in the Christmas lights. "It's always been one of my favorites."

"What was he like, Grandmother?" Belle questioned. "My grandpa?"

Eyes so like her father's and grandfather's stared up at her wondrously, blue and clear, wide and luminous, aching for answers, eager to learn. Isobel smiled down at her granddaughter, creasing her brow in concentration.

"A lot like your father, actually," she answered, hugging both girls closer. "Only somewhat sillier."

"Sillier than Mr. Matthew?" Anna chimed in, looking rather amazed at such a thought.

"Yes," Isobel returned. "If you can believe it." The girls giggled, snuggling into her side, and Isobel breathed them in, cherishing the fruity scent of Anna's shampoo, smiling at the soft powdery smell of the perfume Belle had insisted upon wearing. "He loved Christmas," she continued, leaning back into the couch. "So much so that he always dressed up like Santa and visited all of the children in the neighborhood." She paused, smiling fondly at the memory. "He gave them all a piece of fruit and a candy bar," she went on. "Reasoning as a doctor that the fruit would cancel out the bad effects of the candy."

"That's what Mommy says about Skittles," Anna jumped in. "That since they're a fruit candy, they should count as a fruit."

"Daddy would never say that," Belle laughed. "He doesn't eve think Fig Newtons count, does he?"

"No," Isobel agreed. "But at least Mary has convinced him to come back here for hot chocolate and cookies after the ballet." Anna smiled back at her, twisting curls around her fingers that probably wouldn't last through act one of The Nutcracker. "Your grandfather drilled the mantra of good nutrition into your father," Isobel continued. "So much so that he refused to eat the cookies I would pack in his lunchbox, telling me that I was setting a bad example for the other children."

"He packs those healthy cookies for me," Belle interjected, scrunching her nose. "I always throw them away and share Anna's instead." Anna nodded, making Isobel laugh and wonder if her son was aware of his daughter's subterfuge. "But don't tell him," Belle added. "It might hurt his feelings."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Isobel assured her with a squeeze to the girl's shoulder. "There are some things your father doesn't need to know."

"Like when you let us eat brownies before bedtime?" Anna whispered, the giggles that ensued infectious.

"Especially brownies before bedtime," Isobel uttered. "He'd likely blow a gasket."

"I wish I could have known my Grandpa," Belle stated, suddenly serious.

"He would have adored you, Belle Margaret," Isobel assured her, speaking over the thickness in her throat. "And he would have held you up to put the star on top of the tree every year."

"Just like Daddy does," Belle gasped, beaming from ear to ear.

"Yes," Isobel answered. "Just like your father does."

"Would he let us eat brownies at bedtime?" Belle asked, wide-eyed and eager.

"Yes," Isobel nodded. "But only with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top. Your grandpa loved ice cream above all other treats." Belle grinned from ear to ear as her attention moved to stroking her grandmother's gold bracelet, a penchant she had possessed since her toddler days that was somehow soothing to them both. But Anna had grown quiet, her head downcast, her curls now hanging somewhat limp. "What is it, Anna?" Isobel asked the girl, giving her a small squeeze. "Is something bothering you?"

The child tapped the heels of her shoes together and shrugged.

"It's just," Anna began, biting her lower lip as she was prone to do. "It's just I wish I had a grandfather."

Isobel sighed, kissing the dark head as she nodded in understanding. Belle had her Grandfather Swire, although distance dictated that she didn't see him that often. But he had sent her a box full of gifts, gifts Anna had seen under the tree at the Crawley household on more than one occasion, and he called her fairly frequently on the phone, treasuring the one remaining link he had with his daughter.

"I understand," Isobel breathed, holding the girl all the closer. "Your Grandmother Cora lives far away, and your Grandfather Robert died before you were born. It's only natural that you'd wish for a grandfather to love." She felt the child breathe, sensing a deep-seated loneliness that shouldn't exist in one so young.

"It's just been me and Mommy for a long time," the girl stated, swinging her feet, her patent leather Mary Janes reflecting the lights from the tree. "It's nice to have…" She stopped short, biting that lower lip once again.

"What's that, dear?" Isobel questioned softly, knowing the answer before Anna could say it.

"A family."

Brown eyes stared back at her, reflecting both hope and measured adjustment to the many changes taking place in her young life.

"Yes," Isobel affirmed. "It is. And you've made our family all the richer this Christmas, Anna Blake Gillingham." The girl grinned as small arms wrapped around Isobel's waist, squeezing hard just under her ribs. Belle then joined in, leaving the three of them wrapped up in each other like an odd sort of Christmas pretzel.

"Are we interrupting something?" Matthew paused just in front of them, Mary picking up both her and Anna's coats after trying to straighten his tie. The thing still wasn't perfect, eliciting a sigh from the younger woman, and Isobel couldn't help but grin, remembering the countless times she had attempted to right his habitually lop-sided appearance.

"We've just been appreciating Christmases Past and Present," Isobel stated, giving the girls one last squeeze before helping them stand to their feet.

"That's always an important thing to do," Matthew murmured, tossing Mary a look of confusion as she flickered her eyebrows towards his tie. He waved her off with a grin and moved a step closer to her before gazing back the girls. "Our past makes us who we are, and our present—" He paused, reaching for Mary's hand, the expression of wonder in his eyes nearly sucking the breath from her lungs. Dear Lord, had her son proposed upstairs?

"Well," he continued, looking back at his mother. "Who would have thought last Christmas that we would all be here together tonight, like this?"

"Like a family?" Belle added, throwing her arms about her father's waist and pressing in hard.

"Like a family," Matthew laughed, sniffing back emotion Isobel could hear from where she stood. Her gaze hovered back to Mary, the woman's face fluttering with feelings she was attempting to rein in. But there was no ring on Mary's finger. Not yet, anyway.

"Yes," he returned. "Like a family."

Nobody spoke for a moment as they stared from each other back to the lights on the tree.

"Well—is anyone else ready for The Sugar Plum Fairy?" Isobel finally asked, watching as Mary wiped her cheek as discreetly as possible.

"I'm actually looking forward to the Rats," Mary stated as she cleared her throat. "They've always been my favorite."

"The Rats?" Belle exclaimed, rushing forward to take Mary's hand. "Are you kidding me?"

"Never," Mary insisted as she and Belle exited the house into the night with a shared laugh, Matthew right behind them. Isobel buttoned her coat, picking up her clutch as she noticed the one member of their party who had held back. Anna. She reached for the girl's hand, and Anna took it, walking with her out the door, leaning in close as the other three moved ahead of them.

"Don't tell my mommy what I said," Anna pleaded as Isobel shut the door behind them. "About wishing I had a grandpa. It makes her sad if she thinks I'm unhappy."

"Are you unhappy?" Isobel questioned, tugging Anna's red scarf up over her neck.

"No," the girl insisted with a vehement shake of her head. "I'm very happy. I just…" Her nose scrunched just as Matthew called their names. "I just wish I had a grandpa," Anna finished with a shrug. "And another grandma. Ones who would talk to me. That's all."

Isobel sighed, knowing that Charles's parents had refused any contact with either Mary or their grandchild, a fact she found both incomprehensible and appalling.

"You're secret's safe with me," Isobel assured her. "But you shouldn't be afraid to tell your mother how you feel. She loves you very much, Anna, and she's aware of all of the changes taking place in your life. Wishing for grandparents is nothing to be ashamed of, you know."

"I wrote them a letter," the little girl mumbled, her downcast features clearly indicating that she'd heard nothing in return. "What a thoughtful thing to do," Isobel replied, tugging her mittened hand gently towards the awaiting _Accord_. The girl's breath shimmered ahead of them as they walked, her eyes suddenly deep and thoughtful.

"I wish you were my Grandma, too," Anna confessed, making the older woman stop and take her other hand within her own.

"Who knows, my precious girl," Isobel smiled broadly, casting a glance towards the trio getting into the car. "That may just happen sooner than you think." She was fairly certain of it, actually, smiling at the slight lilt in her son's step as he brushed a quick kiss on Mary's lips. "And until then, just think of me as your Fairy Godmother, alright?"

Anna giggled at her remark, the girl's cheeks already turning pink from the cold.

"Does that mean you can turn my gerbil into a horse?" Anna asked, making Isobel laugh heartily as they finally arrived at the car.

"No," Isobel countered. "But I can put ice cream on your brownie the next time you stay at my house."

"Brownies and ice cream?" Matthew questioned as he ushered his mother into the passenger's seat. "I thought we were having cookies and hot chocolate tonight."

"I see no reason why they should be mutually exclusive," Mary stated as she slid into the middle of the back seat with the girls.

"I'll bet your dentist dances a jig when you show up for a check-up," he noted, catching her eye in the rearview mirror as he started the ignition. "He starts counting the dollar signs the moment you walk in the door."

"I have excellent teeth, thank you," Mary returned. "And my dentist is a she."

"I stand corrected," Matthew grinned, guiding the car onto the street. "Christmas music, anyone?"

* * *

 

The drive home was decidedly more subdued.

"Girls," Mary voiced as they edged into her driveway. "We're home."

Small bodies stretched against her, wide yawns and droopy curls gazing back at her in the darkness.

"Looks like they're too tired for cookies and hot chocolate," Matthew stated as he unfastened his seatbelt.

"No we're not," Belle mumbled, her face scrunching into another yawn as her father chuckled.

"I don't think you're getting out of this one, Crawley," Mary hummed. "Besides, I have more cookies in my kitchen than even I know what to do with."

"Perish the thought," Matthew exclaimed under his breath, moving around to open the car door. The girls moved slowly out of the backseat, Matthew helping Belle out of the car, Mary nudging Anna in the direction of the house, the sudden cold biting her nose with a vengeance. She wished for the eleventh time that night she'd worn slacks rather than a skirt, her legs protesting the outside temperature almost as loudly as her ears.

"Mary." It was the warning in Matthew's tone that stopped her in her tracks, her limbs stiffening as she drew Anna protectively into her body. It was then she saw what he'd seen, a man—a dark figure, moving to a standing position from the chair on her small front porch.

"Who's there?" Matthew called out as Isobel grabbed Belle's hand and backed her away from the house to where Mary and Anna were standing in the yard. Mary squinted into the darkness, her porch light only serving to silhouette the figure as he reached his full height.

"Pardon me," the man stated, a voice from her past hitting Mary right in the chest, the slight Scottish accent too distinctive to miss. "I mean no harm to anyone. I'm looking for Mary Gillingham. Have I found the right house?" Her limbs were frozen, her tongue suddenly leaden in her mouth.

"Sam?"

How she managed the word, she wasn't sure, but she stumbled through the grass to Matthew, the man moving down the two steps to stand on her entry way.

"Mary," the he breathed, and she was shaking, holding Matthew's arm, afraid to move, blinking her eyes rapidly as if doing so would make everything clear. She then propelled herself forward, but Matthew grabbed her arm, clearly still uneasy about the entire situation.

"It's alright," she whispered, patting his hand as she looked back and forth between the two men. "I know him." She then turned to the older of the two who stood wordlessly in a long, dark overcoat, a tasteful Ascot cap warming his bald head, his trim white beard nearly silver in the streetlights. "What are you doing here?" She watched as he reached into his coat, feeling Matthew move directly behind her as Sam tugged a letter out of his inside pocket.

"I got this," he breathed, extending it to Mary who took it with trembling hands. Her eyes rounded, her mouth stuttering as she gazed at the envelope addressed in her daughter's unsteady handwriting. "You have to believe me. I—I had no idea…" His voice broke then, and she took a step forward, touching Sam's arm through his coat, watching as the tall man nearly crumbled to pieces in front of her. "I didn't know I had a granddaughter," he whispered as her pulse launched ahead of her, a ringing in her ears deafening her to the sound of Anna's approaching footsteps. "Colleen…Colleen never told me. She said…" He stopped cold just as Mary felt her daughter clasp her hand. "Anna? Is this Anna?"

The girl nodded before she could answer, and Sam knelt down in front of her, extending his gloved hands in Anna's direction.

"Anna Blake?" he managed, tears thickening his deep baritone.

"Yes," she answered simply. "I'm Anna Blake."

Sam then smiled broadly, shaking his head as if trying to keep himself together.

"I'm so happy to meet you," he uttered. "So very happy to meet you." Anna looked up at Mary, confused but unafraid, her eyes seeking her mother's for answers.

"Anna," Mary began, amazed at the steadiness of her own voice. "This is your grandfather—Sam Blake." She heard her daughter's gasp, felt rather than saw Isobel and Belle move in beside them as a scene she'd thought she'd never witness played out just in front of her.

"My grandfather?" The words were uttered in awe, her child's hand falling slack from her grasp as the girl reached out towards this new person in her life, stroking his beard in wonder.

"Yes, sweetheart," Sam confirmed, his smile unleashing the dimples he passed down to his son and granddaughter. "I'm your grandfather. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to find you."

Anna squealed as she launched herself into his arms, and Sam held her close, the two of them fitting together as if they'd been crafted for just this moment. Tears fell without Mary realizing it, and she was aware that Matthew's arm was now around her, holding her steady before she'd even realized how off-balance she felt.

"Charles's father," Matthew uttered, and she nodded, looking over her shoulder to see if Colleen was anywhere to be seen. She wasn't.

"Do I have a new grandmother, too?" Anna asked as if she'd read Mary's mind. Sam's sighed heavily, his breath visible in the night air.

"I'm afraid not," he answered, taking both of Anna's hands within his large ones. "You see, she died almost a year ago." Mary gasped, catching Sam's attention, and he stood then, keeping one of Anna's hands within his own. "Stroke," he stated, and she felt Matthew's grip around her tighten. "It came out of nowhere, just like…"

"Just like Charles," Mary finished for him, her shoulders slumping forward. Sam nodded, extending his free hand towards her, gripping it firmly within his thick gloves. "I'm so sorry, Sam." She watched him bite his lower lip as he gazed down at the girl beside him.

"I'm the one who's sorry," Sam returned. "All this time, I had a grandchild, Charles's only child, a beautiful little girl I should have been watching grow up. And I've missed…" He faltered then, withdrawing his hand to wipe his face. "I've missed so much." His voice was broken, his demeanor one of a man in mourning, and Mary took a step towards him, her heart nearly lurching out from her chest.

"But you're here now," Anna observed, her small arms still wrapped around Sam's neck. "You're my Christmas present."

Something gave way inside Mary then, something warm and heady, as if a dam to her past had broken and was finally flowing unhindered as it should. She leaned into Matthew, feeling his thumb continually stroking her arm as his lips made gentle contact with her temple. She wasn't sure how she'd be fairing if he weren't here beside her, and she absorbed what she could of him into her senses, breathing a prayer of thanks that hovered like floating ice. Sam was sobbing now, wiping tears with thick gloves as so many unanswered questions spun around them.

"What do you say to taking this inside?" a voice of reason cut though. "We've hot chocolate and cookies waiting for us, and it's far warmer in there than it is out here." Murmurs and chuckles greeted the suggestion as the woman who made it led Belle with her to the porch steps. "I'm Isobel Crawley," she stated clearly, laying a hand on Sam's arm. "Won't you come in and join us?"

Thank God for Isobel, Mary thought, smiling through her own tears as she nodded and handed the older woman her keys. Isobel then opened the door for them all, ushering everyone inside, taking on the guise of perfect hostess that Mary had neither the presence of mind nor the strength to be at the moment.

"Isobel," the older man echoed once they stood inside. "I'm Sam Blake." He took her hand properly as he removed his hat with the other, Isobel taking both it and his coat with a smile and a nod.

"I'm sorry," Mary interjected as she unbuttoned her own coat. "Where are my manners? Sam, this is Matthew Crawley, his daughter Belle, and his mother, Isobel, who just saved the day as usual." The men shook hands, taking each other in as Belle moved to stand beside Anna, gazing wide-eyed at the tall man looming just in front of her.

"Mommy and Mr. Matthew are boyfriend and girlfriend," Anna explained matter-of-factly, making Mary's ears burn even hotter as the cold melted away. "And Mrs. Crawley is sort of like my fairy godmother grandmother...or something like that." Sam chuckled at her description, tossing Isobel a smile from across the room.

"I'm so glad for you, Anna," he then stated, kneeling down to her level once again. "And it's an honor to meet you, Miss Belle." Belle giggled then, dropping into a curtsy that made her father roll her eyes.

"You want some hot chocolate?" Belle asked. "We've just been to see The Nutcracker, and we're all hungry."

"I'd love some hot chocolate," Sam returned. "If it's alright with Mary, that is." His eyes met hers, her knees swaying as she visualized the eyes of his son gazing back at her in much the same manner.

"It's more than alright," she uttered, taking a seat and indicating that Sam should do the same as Matthew hung up their coats. She stared at him, uncertain of where to start, relieved of the responsibility of conversation as the girls promptly sat down on either side of him and took charge.

"Why do you talk like that?" Anna asked, reaching up to touch his trim beard.

"You mean with an accent?" Sam questioned, both girls nodding in response. "Because I was born in Scotland—a country across the ocean, and we Scots have a different way of speaking than Americans."

"It's pretty," Belle noted, making Sam chuckle and shrug. "My grandmother's people were Scottish," Isobel chimed in from the kitchen. "Murrays from Inverness."

"Ah, a Highlander," Sam returned. "No wonder I feel at home already."

Isobel tossed him a grin then, one Mary could only describe as shy and somewhat coy. Had the woman actually blushed, she wondered, turning to look at Matthew who evidently had missed the entire exchange.

"I hope you don't mind the imposition, Mary," Sam continued, spreading his hands out in front of him. "It's just when I received Anna's letter, I couldn't believe what I was reading. I booked a plane ticket within the hour, packed a suitcase and didn't think twice." He cleared his throat then, looking from his granddaughter to his hands before returning Mary's gaze. "I had to meet her," he continued, her fingers trembling at the raw emotion in his voice as he stared at the girl beside him. "God, she looks like a perfect blend of you and Charles."

Her heart squeezed as she stared at her daughter, echoes of the child's father bouncing in her head from various directions all at once.

"She does, doesn't she?" Matthew offered, easing a knot of tension in her shoulders Mary hadn't realized was there. "I thought Anna looked just like Mary when we all first met, but after I saw pictures of Charles, well…" Sam nodded back at him, smiling his approval through damp eyes. God, she felt somewhat disembodied, as if she were taking in what was happening through a screen rather than sitting in the midst of it.

"How did you two meet?" Sam asked, pulling her firmly back into the present. How odd must this be for him, not only meeting his granddaughter for the first time, but walking in on a blended family event with people he'd never before seen?

"Through our children," Matthew answered for her as she swallowed in search of her voice. "Belle kept telling me about her new friend at school named Anna, and one day I finally got up the nerve to introduce myself to her mother. Then we were assigned to work a booth together at the school Fall Festival, and well..." Sam smiled at that as Mary cleared her throat.

"My mommy died a long time ago," Belle suddenly added. "When I found out Anna's daddy was dead, too, we just became friends." Matthew's hand came to rest on top of hers, and she closed her eyes, suspended between present and past yet again.

"I'm glad you found each other," Sam stated with a small smile. "It's important to have people in your life who understand you."

"That it is," Mary breathed as Matthew squeezed her fingers. "It's been a godsend for both of us." Sam looked at them, at her and Matthew, trying not to stare but unable to help himself, and she wondered again what this must be like for him, to see her with someone besides his son. Then again, he hadn't seen her in over six years, hadn't spoken with her since she'd decided to marry Tony. What in God's name had Colleen been telling him all this time? And how had he not known about Anna?

"Who's ready for hot chocolate?" Isobel questioned brightly, setting steaming mugs on the kitchen table two at a time. "I've got marshmallows and whipped cream, so pick your poison." The girls jumped up and bounded in her direction before anyone else had a chance to speak or even think, Sam smiling and shaking his head as he watched Anna, gazing after her as if she were some sort of magical creature.

"We've a lot to talk about, I think," the older man smiled, returning his attention to Mary. She nodded, full of questions and emotions swirling about inside her in some sort of mad-cap waltz. "Maybe I could treat you to breakfast or lunch tomorrow?" She stood then, walking in his direction.

"I won't say no to that," Mary returned. "But can't you stay tonight? We can speak freely once Anna has gone to bed."

"I don't want to impose on you, Mary," Sam stated, his thick brows quirking upward in a gesture so reminiscent of his son. "I'm certain I can find a place to stay tonight."

"Nonsense," Mary interrupted. "I have a spare room that never gets used. Besides, Anna will be disappointed if her newly found grandfather leaves almost the moment she's found him." He nodded without words, emotions playing across his face freely and without shame.

"If you're certain it's no bother," Sam insisted, smiling as Isobel handed him a red ceramic mug with overly large snowflakes painted on it—the mug Anna had made just last week.

"I'm certain," Mary returned, feeling Matthew's arm move about her waist as they picked up their own mugs. "Please stay."

Sam nodded then, a warm chuckle rumbling up from his chest as Belle's tower of marshmallows tumbled from the top of her mug across the table. Matthew's brows arched as perilously high as Mary had ever seen them, and she stopped his intended reprimand with a muted whisper.

"Face it, Crawley. Your daughter has a sweet tooth." Matthew tossed her an exaggerated look of warning, and she looked from him to Sam and then to the girls, the convergence of so many worlds almost too much to take in.

"To family," Isobel then stated, raising her mug in their direction, everyone else following suit.

"To family," they all returned, sipping their chocolate and looking at each other, the newness of the situation both comforting and strange. Only last year, she and Anna had spent Christmas alone, chatting with her mother via Skype, talking with Edith for a few minutes via cell phone. But other than that, it had been just the two of them. The skin on her arms prickled like mad.

"And to cookies," Anna added as she and Belle practically attacked the chocolate chip and sugar varieties, Anna handing two to her new grandfather without waiting to see if he actually wanted them or not.

"She's a marvel," Sam whispered as he took a bite. "You've done a beautiful job with her, Mary."

"Thank you," she managed, sipping more of her chocolate to relieve the thickness in her throat. "I honestly don't know what I would have done without her through it all."

The older man squeezed her hand then, the size and shape of his palm so reminiscent of his son's.

"He's right, you know," Matthew whispered as everyone found a seat either at the table or in the family room. "You don't give yourself enough credit as a mother." She looked into his eyes, touching his tie that had remained ridiculously askew the entire night.

"Perhaps," she breathed. "But I do need to work on my neck-tie skills."

"It's hopeless," Matthew shrugged as he guided them back to the sofa. "Just ask my mother. She finally gave up on me after I married Lavinia."

The rest of the evening passed with cookies and general conversation, the girls acting out scenes from The Nutcracker, launching into an argument over who should play Clara and who should play the prince. In the end, Matthew jumped up to take on the role of the male lead, the girls playing every other character in the ballet with aplomb, earning themselves a round of applause at the end as Matthew took turns spinning them over his head.

"I think I pulled something," Matthew uttered as he set Belle on the floor. "I fear my days at the Bolshoi are over."

"Better find a new career quickly," Mary mused, reveling in his nearness as leaned in to kiss her cheek. "You're not getting out of buying me a Christmas present that easily, you know."

"I've had your gift for weeks," he claimed, tossing her a wink. "You're the one who'd best be getting busy. I know how you put things off."

"Some things I should never have put off in the first place," she murmured, staring meaningfully at Sam and Anna who were seated together, the girl trying to connect the moles that dotted the top of his hand.

"That's done," Matthew stated. "And done well, I might add." She inhaled and leaned into him, the butterscotch schnapps Isobel had sneaked into her hot chocolate detangling any remaining tension in her limbs. "We should go now," he observed, tossing a glance at his watch. "It's past both of the girl's bedtimes, and I somehow think you might be up for a while once we leave." She sighed and nodded, touching his cheek as Isobel stood to retrieve the trio's coats. "Unless you prefer that I stay?" Matthew questioned, tossing Sam a glance over her shoulder as the older man spoke with his mother.

"Now there's a loaded offer," she quipped, kissing the tip of his nose. "But I'm fine. Truly. And Sam and I have six years of history we need to get out in the open. That can only happen if we're alone." He nodded, gesturing for Belle to get up and put on her coat.

"Be good to yourself in the process," Matthew instructed, his brows raising nearly as high as her own. "You tend to take too much on yourself, you know."

"I know," she hummed, nudging him towards the door as she knelt to give Belle a goodnight hug. "Now make yourself useful and bring in Sam's bags before you leave."

"Aye, aye, captain," Matthew returned, Sam following him out into the cold.

"Let me know if you need anything, dear," Isobel cut in, returning the hug Mary gave her with an extra squeeze. "Anything at all. I'm free tomorrow, so just call or text."

"Thank you," Mary breathed, unable to let go of the other woman's arm for some reason. "For everything."

"I left the schnapps on the counter," Isobel whispered, leaning in close. "For later." Mary smiled at her then, wrapping herself in this new depth of comradery.

The Crawleys took their leave after Sam's bags were deposited in the spare room, and Anna wrapped her arms around her grandfather's legs as if he might disappear back into the thin air from which he seemed to have magically arrived.

"Time for teeth and pajamas," Mary instructed, undeterred by the predictable pout her daughter shot back in return.

"Just a few more minutes," Anna begged, sticking her bottom lip out for effect. "Please, Mommy!"

"You'll have all day tomorrow," Mary instructed. "Go."

"Mind your mother, Anna," Sam chimed in with a squeeze to her shoulder. "Perhaps she'll let me come and tuck you in." Mary nodded as Anna looked back at her expectantly, watching as her daughter raced up the steps to her bedroom. "Charles would be so proud of her," he uttered, his eyes following the child's ascent without blinking. He sniffed then, removing his round glasses to wipe the lenses.

"I know," Mary breathed. "You don't know how many times I've wished he could have held her at least once before he..." She cleared her throat then, the room suddenly hot.

"He was so excited about your baby," Sam cut in, his tone deepening as it did when he got emotional. "And your wedding, basically about anything that had to do with you. He loved you so much, Mary." She leaned against the small kitchen bar, her hands raking through hair she was certain had seen better days.

"As I loved him." They stared at each other then, curious but not hostile, each understanding there was still much left unsaid.

"When did Tony die?" Sam questioned, nodding towards a framed black and white photo of the three of them just before his last deployment.

"Not long after that picture was taken," Mary returned, moving towards it as if seeing it for the first time. "He never came home from Afghanistan, at least, not alive."

"I'm sorry," Sam uttered, his tone thick and rich. 

"So am I," Mary agreed. "But we were never happy, you know."

"That's not what I ever wanted for you," Sam stated, his brows creasing in concern. "I hope you know that. You and Anna deserve to be happy." She smiled as best she could, turning back to face him.

"We are," she breathed. "Finally."

"The Crawleys seem like lovely people," Sam noted with a smile.

"They're amazing," Mary agreed. "I don't know what Anna and I would do without them, honestly. They've become such a part of our lives." Brown eyes took her in, their edges creasing upwards in gentle acknowledgement.

"You love him, don't you? Matthew?"

The question was soft, more of an observation, and it was one she welcomed, its acknowledgment sliding over her like warm butter.

"Yes. I do." Sam nodded, gazing back up the steps at the sound of small feet running just before the bathroom door slammed shut.

"He loves you very much," he added. "That much is obvious."

"We're good for each other," she added, finishing off the last bit of hot chocolate that had gone cold in her cup. "His wife was killed in a car accident almost two and a half years ago, and neither of our girls can remember their lost parent."

"God, that's rough," he acknowledged. "It's difficult enough raising a child when you have someone to help, but trying to do it on your own, after such a loss..." Their eyes met again, shared grief still felt keenly between them.

"I won't say it's been easy," she offered. "But I can't imagine my life without Anna."

"You shouldn't have to," he murmured, and a sharp stab of pain hit her from behind, her senses unable to comprehend just what it would be like to lose one's only child.

"Colleen really didn't tell you?"

It burst out of her, her tone more accusatory than it should have been. But he didn't seem taken aback or affronted, just an older man full of regret, shaking his head at the shadows of his past.

"She told me you'd lost the baby," he murmured, quietly enough so Anna couldn't hear. "That you and Tony had moved to the East Coast and that you wanted us to leave you alone so you could move on with your life together and forget."

Her mouth was hanging open, her tongue seemingly made of cement.

"I could never forget Charles," she insisted under her breath. "And I never want to."

"I know," he conceded quietly. "And I should have known better then. I was too caught up in my own grief to reason, or at least that's what I keep telling myself."

"I wrote every year," Mary whispered, shards of anger shooting down limbs and across nerves. "Several times. I sent pictures, I sent drawings." She paused, breathing in, breathing out, calming herself down as best she could. "They were all returned to me unopened."

His eyes shut, his nostrils flared, and she saw the tremor in his own hands, pent-up fury at his late wife clearly visible across the lines of his face.

"How do you forgive the dead, Mary?" he questioned, his eyes dropping to his shoes, his mannerisms more like his son than he could ever know. "I'm not certain that I can." She had no answer for him. "I suppose we just move on," he replied to himself, regaining some of his composure as his jaw relaxed. "As you and Anna have been able to do."

"We've finally met the right people," Mary acknowledged, her own hands still shaking somewhat. "Matthew, Isobel and Belle."

"Belle is darling," Sam acknowledged, eliciting a nod from Mary as she spied yet another stray marshmallow lying abandoned on the floor. "I think she has a lot of her grandmother's personality in her."

"She's Isobel made over," Mary agreed just as Anna's feet began their descent down the stairs. Their conversation would be put on hold now as priorities shifted towards the little girl in the Abdominal Snowman pajamas. Toothpaste lingered on the edge of her mouth, her dark hair barely creased where curls had dwelled earlier. Sam rubbed his thumb over the white past on her cheek before Mary could get to it, and Anna's arms reached up to him in response as she allowed the man to pick her up and hold her to his chest.

"Why don't you take her on up?" Mary offered, rewarded by beaming smiles from both of them. "Anna, you pick out a story or two, and I'll come and give you a kiss once the dishwasher is loaded."

The pair moved back upstairs as books were discussed and Ferdinand the Bull settled upon as the first selection. Mary watched them with a heart both full and heavy, her thumb tracing the edge of her empty mug as she contemplated making herself a cup of Swiss Miss just to pour more butterscotch schnapps into her system. God—was all of this really happening? Colleen dead, Sam here, Anna being put to bed by a grandfather she hadn't even known existed a little over a week ago. And Matthew's question from earlier in the evening when he'd been helping her with her necklace still hovering in the front of her mind.

_Next Christmas, how would you feel about us officially being a family?_

They'd been interrupted repeatedly, first by Belle, then by Anna, and finally by Isobel herself as she called for the two of them to hurry up. The moment had been lost, then Sam's arrival had put everything on hold, but the pattering of her heart remained, scampering in a frenzy just under her skin as Russians had danced and flowers had waltzed. Had Matthew been about to propose?

She decided to forego the hot chocolate altogether, pouring the schnapps directly into her mug with a shot of Bailey's and some milk, sipping her concoction thoughtfully as she stacked what dishes remained in the dishwasher. Her life was so different, so complicated but rich, and she took a larger gulp of her drink, welcoming the soft fuzzy sensation it deposited into her mind.

"What do you think about all of this, Charles?" she whispered, staring at his photo now hanging on the refrigerator next to one of her and Anna with Matthew and Belle at the Fall Festival. He'd most certainly come up with some quip that would make her roll her eyes before he'd move in to kiss her, and then he'd kiss her all over, making her moan into his collarbone as he had been prone to do. She reached up to touch his photo with the pad of her index finger, moving it in a straight line until it traced the contours of Matthew's face smiling back at her from the infamous Ring Toss Booth.

Charles would approve of her life now. She was certain of it. But he'd be livid with his mother.

She finished off her drink and walked up the steps, the sight of Sam sitting on the edge of Anna's bed one she'd imagined at least a million times over the years. But it had been Charles reading her a story, Charles tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, Charles making her giggle just as her light needed to be turned off for the night. Life never played by the same set of rules, it would seem.

"I'm not certain the two of you are up to any good," Mary stated, receiving a pair of wide-eyed expressions in response as she walked in and leaned down to kiss Anna's cheek.

"I think we've been caught," Sam noted, standing as he gave Anna's hand a grandfatherly pat and laid the book on the nightstand. "Sleep well, dear girl. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Granddad," Anna called after him. Sam paused, smiling openly at the title she'd chosen to bestow upon him, nodding his head in open approval.

"Goodnight, Anna Blake," he returned, blowing her a kiss she caught and laid across her cheek. He then left them alone, his feet slowly descending to the ground floor, and Mary returned her attention to her daughter, this child whose world had once again been forever altered.

"He's good, Mommy," Anna beamed, biting her lower lip as her arms slid around her mother's neck. "Granddad is good."

"Yes," Mary whispered, smoothing her child's dark hair off of her forehead. "He's a good man."

"I'm glad I wrote him," Anna noted as she snuggled deeper into her mattress and pillow. "He said my letter made him cry."

"I'm sure it did," Mary agreed, visualizing how Sam must have looked when he first realized just what he held in his hands. God—it was a wonder he hadn't suffered a heart attack then and there.

"Having a grandfather was my Christmas wish, you know," Anna admitted, looking uncertain for the first time since they'd left for the ballet. "I didn't want to tell you, because I knew you couldn't get one for me."

Mary laughed then, she couldn't help it, and she drew her daughter up to her chest, cradling her close as she had when she was younger.

"You're right," she agreed. "A grandfather isn't exactly something I can buy at Toys R Us. But you've found each other, and that's what's important." Anna nodded at that, her face scrunching as she digested what her mother had told her.

"What's your Christmas wish, Mommy?" Anna's question was breathed into her neck, and she drew back just so, allowing the girl to recline back on to her pillow as Mary sat up straighter on the bed.

"I already have it," Mary replied. "You're my every wish come true."

"I know, but that's not what I mean," Anna pressed. "What's your special wish you're afraid to tell anybody?"

Her pulse sped ahead of her once again, Matthew's question swirling around in her brain like an insurgent echo.

"I'm just happy we're all together this year," Mary admitted, pulling the blanket up closer to Anna's chin. "And I hope we are next Christmas, too."

"Maybe we'll be married by then," Anna suggested, her eyes rounding in childish anticipation. Mary swallowed hard, wondering if there was already a ring in the picture, if plans had been altered due to the night's unexpected turn of events, if she'd begin the new year with a ring on her finger she didn't wear out of guilt or obligation.

"Maybe we will," Mary agreed, kissing her child goodnight before making her way back downstairs where she knew her past, present and future would once again sit down for a face to face encounter.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Sam have a heart-to-heart, and Matthew's plans to propose keep getting delayed.

"At some point, I suppose we'll have to clean up."

She chuckled into his chest, gazing over Christmas carnage strewn across his living room floor. Torn wrapping paper, crumpled bows, scissors, empty boxes…the room looked as if a Hallmark storage room had exploded all over the beige-tone carpet.

"I believe that's your job," she quipped, feeling his incredulous stare before she saw it. "Weren't you the one who told me that I take too much upon myself?"

"Since when did you start listening to what I have to say?" he returned, his fingers moving into her scalp, giving it a gentle massage.

"Since you gave me this," she grinned, holding up the sterling silver chain bedecked with two jeweled circles, the larger silver link entwined with a smaller one forged of rose gold. "You evidently listen better than I gave you credit for."

"You weren't exactly subtle at the mall," he grinned, kissing her temple just before she elbowed him in the ribs. "Be careful—I might take it back."

"Then I'll take back your gift," she retorted, earning herself yet another chuckle.

"Sorry," he shot back. "I've already put those season tickets under lock and key." He paused, tilting her mouth into the perfect angle for a slow, lingering kiss, the kind he could get lost in for hours on end. She hummed into him, her fingers scrunching into his sweater, unleashing a slow burn in his groin that reminded him that it had been far too long since he'd been inside of her. They'd only had the one leisurely night together, the two other times they'd managed to have sex consisting of mid-day quickies when he surprised her for lunch. God—it had been too long, and he unsuccessfully tried to swallow down his mounting arousal, dragging his brain back to the previous train of thought.

"Besides, I knew the moment I saw that necklace that it was a perfect representation of you and Anna."

She smiled that smile that always managed to get to him, the one that made him feel about two feet taller than he actually stood.

"Or you and Belle," she returned. "Perhaps I should return those basketball tickets and get you a matching necklace instead."

"I'm not letting you anywhere near those tickets," he grinned, nudging his fingers just into her ribs, earning himself a sound whack and a muted squeal. "Besides, you don't even know where they are."

"Then I'll just enlist Belle to help me find them," she goaded, and he rolled his eyes at her, knowing his daughter would tell Mary anything she wanted to know. "And besides, the tickets weren't the gift I was threatening to take back." His eyebrows shot up at that.

"You mean there's another present I don't know about?" he questioned, feeling her shift against him subtly as she pressed her thigh meaningfully into his.

"Ummm," she teased, biting her lower lip in that way that drove him completely and utterly mad. The crotch of his pants was suddenly too tight, and he sat up a bit taller, trembling at the sensation of her hand sliding up and down his inner thigh. "It isn't exactly suitable for young eyes."

He swallowed—hard. Damn it—when had the room gotten so toasty?

"Why Mary Gillingham," he teased, feeling dots of sweat from along his hairline. "Are you attempting to corrupt me?" She nearly snort-laughed at that, her fingers working their way nimbly under his crewneck sweater.

"You're far too easy to corrupt, Crawley," she teased, tracing small circles through khaki with her other hand over what was becoming harder by the second. "No challenge at all." He flipped her over then, pinning her to the couch, shushing her as she cackled out loud.

"You'll wake the girls," he stated, his own words effectively cut off as she pulled his mouth directly on top of hers, parting her lips for him, allowing him to get drunk on the taste of her, a mixture of mulled wine and cinnamon that was the most intoxicating elixir he'd ever sampled. Then his arms were around her, pulling her flush against him, his thigh wedged between hers, fingers clutching fabric, hands groping for skin.

"Shouldn't we take this somewhere else?" she breathed, leaning her head back as far as she could to grant him better access to her neck. "The girls…"

"Are asleep," he cut in, squeezing a very pert nipple through red cashmere. She bucked at the sensation, sucking in whatever sound she'd been about to make.

"Anna's a light sleeper," she warned, her back arching into his touch in spite of her admonition.

"And she's full of cookies and hot chocolate and has played hard with her new toys today," he continued. "Just like Belle. God, Mary, they both passed out on the couch less than an hour ago."

For a minute, there was only breathing and touching and sighs of encouragement whispered into heated skin.

"You're still taking quite a chance, you know," she hummed as he drew her earlobe into his mouth and nipped it gently. She squeaked then couldn't speak anymore, a hiss the best she could do as she pressed herself against his thigh. "And I'm in no mood to be teased." Her tone sounded like fine whisky.

"A woman of action," he murmured into her neck, his need to bury himself between her thighs increasing by the second.

"You know how I like it," she retorted, and he chuckled into her mouth as he plunged his tongue in deep. Her fingers gripped him through wool and cotton, and he moaned her name breathlessly, causing her to rock against his leg with even more determination. He was hard, so hard for her, and she knew it, the little minx as she palmed his ass and squeezed until he groaned.

"You want to dry hump here on the couch?" He felt her quake beneath him, her snickering the most beautiful music he heard since Lavinia's last lullaby to their daughter.

"Is that my only option?" she quipped with a raised brow. He grinned like an idiot, he was certain of that fact, but he could honestly care less at this point with her fingers doing things to his scalp while she continued to rub herself against his thigh.

"Well, I suppose there's the floor," he tossed back. "The coffee table, and don't forget the recliner. The leather might stick if we were to, oh, I don't know, get naked, or something like that. But if we're going to grind in our clothes, well then the couch should do nicely."

She smiled up at him, tracing the lines of his face as he drew back to simply look at her. There was something almost unreadable in the way she was looking at him, something that made him crave a forever with her, one that included humping on furniture, laughing over dinner, picking up wrapping paper and discarded tinsel, putting children to bed before curling up on the couch, doing anything and everything as long as he could do it with her.

"I love you, Mary."

He felt his words all over, knowing he was well and truly done for, that she possessed him mind, body and soul and that fact was perfectly alright with him. He stroked a wayward lock of hair from her face, and she kissed him then, her lips soft and spicy, her touch that of a goddess.

"I love you, too," she replied, and he caught himself wanting to ask her—needing to ask her, here and now, without pretense, without ceremony, here with her lying under him on his five year old couch. She'd never looked more beautiful, he thought to himself, her dark hair spread haphazardly beneath her, her v-neck pulled askew to the right just enough to reveal a tantalizing hint of black lace, her mouth now free of lipstick, her lips plump and pink simply because they'd been pressed to his. Goddess indeed, he mused, and he traced the dip in her sweater, his pants tightening further at the soft whimper that escaped her when one finger slid under her bra. She was everything to him, and his throat constricted as he leaned down to kiss her forehead, losing himself in the tropical scent of her shampoo.

"Mary," he whispered, and she kissed him harder, cupping the back of his head to keep him close, as if he'd ever leave her of his own free will.

"Take me to bed, Matthew," she slurred, notching his body temperature up at least ten degrees on contact. He kissed her with ferocity of a thunderstorm, driven on by need, by want, by a love he thought he'd never experience again, especially after losing so much. He drew back then, and she whimpered at the loss of contact, continuing to grind herself against his thigh in a manner that was driving him insane. He stroked the same stubborn lock of hair back from her forehead as he forced himself to withdraw his hand from under her bra, continuing to rub her nipple on top of her sweater.

"Gladly," he grinned, his breath coming in catches as she tossed her head back, exposing more of her delicious neck. "But first…" he paused, dipping his mouth to the sensitive juncture between neck and clavicle, feeling her resulting moan all over just before he pressed himself upright. He was straddling her on all fours, not exactly the most attractive of positions, he supposed, but he couldn't bring himself to care, not now. He swallowed, wondering if she could hear his pounding pulse from where she lay. "First there's something I need to ask you."

She pressed herself up on her elbows, her expression drifting from foggy oblivion to fully alert. Her eyes scrunched in a question, and he inhaled as best he could, palms sweaty, throat thick, heart beating so erratically its rhythm could rival that of Stravinsky's _The Rite of Spring_.

"Matthew," she uttered, his body shuddering at the throaty texture in which she said his name. Yes, he needed this, needed her, every day for the rest of his life, there was no doubt in his mind. "Wha…what…"

"Mary," he began, unable to stop touching her, unable to stop caressing her forehead or smiling down at her like a lovesick idiot. "I want to…I mean, would you consider…"

"Mommy?"

They flew apart in a flash, righting clothes and hair with the composure of a couple of horny teenagers caught making out. The room was fuzzy for a moment, his mind spinning haphazardly from one corner to the other in a boomerang effect.

"What's wrong, Anna?" Mary questioned, sounding far too reasonable considering their circumstances. He blinked until the room came back into focus, and he pushed himself up straight on the couch. Anna sniffed and wiped her cheek, her expression as pitiful as he'd ever seen it. She didn't look good, in fact, she looked somewhat green, and she waddled towards her mother, stopping in the middle of the room and swaying on her feet.

"I feel like I'm gonna throw up," Anna muttered, and Mary was on her feet in an instant, reaching her daughter just in time for the girl to start heaving all over the carpet. God—was this really happening? Right as he was about to—

"Matthew," Mary ordered. "Get a trash can."

He shook himself out of his stupor, moving quickly to the bathroom and grabbing the small waste basket as quickly as he could. Not that it would do any good judging by the sound of things. The living room was already going to require a massive clean-up job. Poor Anna. Oh, God…oh, no…she'd just been in the same bed as Belle. He shut his eyes, trying to block out images of the stomach flu making its rounds from one household to the other. He rounded the corner, and Mary grabbed the blue plastic receptacle from his grasp, handing it to Anna just in time to catch the next round of vomit.

"I'm so sorry," Mary uttered, holding her daughter upright as the child coughed and sputtered out the remnants of Christmas dinner and far too many sweets.

"Don't worry about it," he returned, somehow remembering that a cool cloth might make Anna feel at least a tiny bit better. He dashed to the hall closet and withdrew a washcloth he quickly soaked in the bathroom sink. Of all the rotten luck, he thought as he wrung out the cloth and gazed back at himself in the mirror. His hair was sticking up on one side, his collar was buried under his sweater on the left, and traces of wine-colored lipstick dotted his temple. God—he looked utterly ridiculous. Then Anna was heaving again, and he tore off in her direction, leaving concerns about his appearance sitting squarely on the bathroom counter.

"I should get her home," Mary stated, and he nodded in agreement, laying the cloth on the back of Anna's neck before fetching their discarded coats and tossing Mary her shoes.

"Take the trash can with you," he offered, and she mouthed a small _Thank you_ in his direction. He managed to get Anna's coat on her, helping the little girl into her red cowgirl boots, allowing her to place the washcloth on her forehead. "I hope she feels better soon."

"So do I," Mary sighed as she buttoned up before guiding her daughter towards the front door. "It's lousy to be sick on Christmas."

"At least we made it through dinner and presents," he stated, earning a small shrug in response. "It could have been worse." Anna retched again at just that moment, and he took a step back without thinking. "Perhaps I spoke too soon," he muttered, watching as Mary smoothed her daughter's hair back from her face. He moved into the kitchen and poured cold water into a _Frozen_ plastic cup and took it to Anna, rubbing her back gingerly as he helped her take a sip.

"Thank you," the girl whispered, and he kissed the top of her head, suppressing the urge to simply pick her up and cradle her to his chest until she fell asleep.

"Do you want another drink?" he asked her, receiving a shake of her head in response.

"Matthew, I…" Mary stopped mid-sentence, her face working independently of speech. "I'm sorry…for all of…"

"Shhhh," he cut in, standing and cupping her cheek before kissing her gently on the lips. "No apologies—not for something like this. All a part of the joys of parenting."

He felt her nod, and he wished with everything he had that he could keep her here—keep both of them here, actually, here with him and Belle forever, here where they belonged, here where he could take care of them, vomit and all. "Call me if you need anything." He then knelt down to Anna's level and kissed her clammy forehead. "Get better, munchkin," he muttered, taken aback when the little girl started to sob where she stood. The sound tore him into, and he threw caution to the wind, holding her close to his chest, feeling her blubber all over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she cried, sniffing loudly, sputtering between words. "I didn't mean…to…ruin….Christmas." He cupped her face and smiled back at her, knowing there was no way in hell he was going to let this child feel guilty for something over which she had no control.

"You didn't, sweetheart," he assured her, hugging her as close as he could. "You and your mother have already made my Christmas more wonderful than you can even imagine. Now go home, rest and get better, alright?" Little arms wrapped around him weakly, the smell of puke and kiddy sweat assailing his nose. But that didn't matter anymore, not when she squeezed his neck and whispered words so sweet they melted him into a puddle on the spot.

"I love you, Mr. Matthew."

"I love you, too, Anna."

Then they were gone. He was left staring at a room in shatters, surrounded by more of a mess to clean up than he had banked on earlier, the smell far worse than it had been just three minutes ago. But it didn't matter, he realized, not really, not anymore. Mary and Anna were his family now. He knew that as certainly as he knew his own name.

"Stick to the plan, Crawley," he mused to himself, trying to convince himself that Valentine's Day really wasn't that far away, truly only a matter of weeks if one got down to it, that it made sense to wait a bit longer, to give Mary and their girls time to adjust to thoughts of a life together. But as he wiped up vomit and tossed dirty towels into the washer along with his sweater, he paused, shaking his head, knowing that there was no way in hell he would last that long.

"New Year's Eve, then," he muttered, biting his lower lip as he stared up at his calendar, wondering if this would prove to be the longest or shortest week of his life.

* * *

 

"How is she doing?" Sam handed her a mug of decaf, and she greedily inhaled the aroma of cinnamon and cream.

"She's asleep," Mary sighed, running her fingers over her scalp before taking a relaxing sip. "That's a start."

"Let's hope she can sleep all night," Sam mused, raising his own mug up in a toast to hers. Ceramic clicked on ceramic, and they drank together, her bones melting into the warmth seeping back into her body. Rattled nerves began to settle, and she set the mug down on the table, pausing to rub her temples. "Rest will do her more good than anything at this point."

"It wouldn't hurt us, either," Mary added, making the older man smile back at her. "You didn't have to stay up with me, Sam. I've cleaned up my fair share of puke over the years."

He tossed her a glance and a smile before clearing his throat.

"I could hardly sleep with all of the ruckus in the bathroom," he confessed. "Besides, I've got a little more than one week left with my granddaughter before I'm scheduled to go back home. I don't want to miss anything, Mary, even if it means holding her when she's sick."

And held her he had, rocking her in the semi-darkness, whispering passages from the copy of _Treasure Island_ he'd given her for Christmas into her ear, making Mary nearly tear up as he'd explained to Anna that it had been her father's favorite book when he'd been a boy.

"You're so good with her," Mary stated, hearing Sam make a muted noise in response.

"I've missed so much," he replied with a shake of his head. "Been an absentee grandfather for far too long."

"Through no fault of your own," Mary argued. "And you're here now, aren't you?" He exhaled into the room, nodding with a measured amount of reluctance. She paused then, taking another swig of her coffee as she stepped into uncharted territory. "Why don't you stay, Sam?" She'd been wanting to ask for the past several days, but she didn't want to overstep her bounds, not so early in this newly re-forged relationship.

"For how long?" he queried, his brow quirking in time with hers. "For good?"

He inhaled sharply, staring back at her until a small cough coming from Anna's room hijacked their attention. Nothing followed, no sounds of retching or frantic footsteps running to the bathroom, and they finally relaxed back into their seats, Mary's gaze resuming its direct nature as if it had never been broken.

"I won't lie and say I haven't considered it," Sam admitted. "It's not as if I have anything that requires my attention at home anymore. But I can't impose upon you and Anna forever."

"You're not imposing," Mary began as Sam reached across the table and laid a large hand upon hers. It was warm, just as his sons had been, shaped in manner that was different yet achingly familiar, and he looked at her in the same searching manner as Charles had all those years ago.

"But I am," he stated, his brows raising in emphasis. "What are the odds of Matthew actually staying overnight when I'm sleeping just upstairs?" Her cheeks felt hot, and she coughed as he squeezed her hand gently.

"You're rather forward for an almost father-in-law," she quipped, eliciting a deep chuckle that brought out his dimples.

"I try to watch out for my girls," he grinned before removing his hand to take another sip of coffee. "Forgive me if that sounds horribly presumptuous of me. I know I have no right…"

"I'm not offended," Mary cut in. "I'm actually touched, to be honest. You mean so much to Anna, she adores having you here, and I haven't had a father figure in my life in a very long time. It's lovely."

She pressed her lips together in thought as her fingers ran along the smooth surface of her mug.

"And I always wanted a daughter," Sam added, the lines around his eyes creasing as Mary had always imagined Santa Claus's would do. "Life has an odd way of working itself out sometimes, doesn't it?" They gazed at each other, years of forced separation easing into something precious.

"Stay here," Mary said, her thumb skimming over the rim of her mug. "Find your own place, if you like, but come here to live, why don't you? What's waiting for you back in Texas?"

"Not a God damn thing," Sam answered, making her chuckle in response. "It's lonely, to be perfectly frank. And it's been that way for years, long before Colleen died." She stood and moved to the chair next to his, her hand resting on top of his this time. There was a weathered elegance to this man, one that made her feel safe and at ease in his presence, one that reminded her just why she had fallen so hard for his son.

"I understand loneliness," she whispered. "All too well." She cleared her throat softly before taking another sip of her coffee, images of her past life drifting in and out of her stream of consciousness. "The thing is, Sam, there's no need for either of us to be lonely anymore."

He gave her a smile that let her know he understood.

"Charles wouldn't want that for us," he stated, his gaze fixed on something above Mary's head that she couldn't see. She doubted that she was supposed to, actually. It was something private and personal, something that belonged solely to him.

"No," she agreed. "He wouldn't. He'd want us to be happy."

The ache was still there, but it was softer now, more bearable than it had been just months ago. She wondered if she'd ever stop missing Charles and realized with a start that she really didn't want that to happen. She wanted a part of him to remain with her as long as she lived, and she breathed a sigh of gratitude yet again for the daughter they'd somehow managed to conceive just before he'd been taken from her forever.

"I was actually entertaining the notion of relocating here," Sam began. "To be closer to you and Anna, but I didn't wish to appear too forward." She looked back at him from under her lashes, her eyes narrowing until they looked positively feline.

"Towards me, or towards Isobel Crawley?" she questioned, nearly making Sam choke on his decaf. "If you get to be forward, so do I."

"Touché," Sam quipped, raising his mug to her in salute. "Am I really being that obvious?"

"To me," Mary replied with a shrug. "But I think Matthew is totally oblivious and is likely to remain that way until somebody clues him in. As for Isobel herself…" She paused, unable to keep herself from grinning at the look of eager expectation peaking back at her from eyes so like those that mesmerized her once upon a lifetime ago. "I think she's every bit as interested as you are," she stated with a wry smirk, enjoying the way Sam's brows somehow managed to continue creeping upward until they nearly reached his scalp. Was he blushing, she wondered, and her heart felt lighter somehow, as if his healing was somehow icing on the cake for her own. But his eyes fell, then, gazing into his coffee, uncharacteristically hesitant to meet hers.

"You don't think it's too soon, do you? Since Colleen's death, I mean?"

"No," Mary stated, watching as his brow creased in thought. "I've learned that grieving is personal, Sam, that it has its own time frame. No one has the right or ability to tell another person how long the process should take or when it's the right time to move on. Only you know if you're ready or not, and if you're actually interested in Isobel, I'd say that's a pretty good sign that you are." He smiled at that, his forehead relaxing in a manner that made him appear five years younger.

"You're very wise," Sam stated. "Although I hate that you've had to gain wisdom of this nature at such a young age."

"It wasn't an easy lesson to learn," she admitted, feeling her neck contract as she swallowed. "And one I pray to God I never have to repeat."

"As do I," he uttered, his lips barely moving under the weight of his words. She knew that he grieved his son far more than he did his wife, a fact which seemed to embarrass him somewhat no matter how perfectly understandable it was to her. She studied him closer, then, unable to stifle her curiosity any longer. "Did you love her, Sam? Colleen, I mean?"

"I did once," he answered, his tone almost flat. "Experiencing the death of love is a slow and suffocating process, Mary, not something that I would wish upon anyone. Especially when the person you no longer love is your spouse."

"I never loved Tony," she volunteered, her own gaze faltering as he now watched her closely. "So I haven't experienced what you describe exactly. But I know how it feels to continually resent the person you're married to, to wish you'd made another choice but then feel guilty about the fact that you actually wish such a thing. God, there were times I actually prayed that Tony wouldn't come home, and then when I learned that he wouldn't…" The rest of her sentence stuck in her throat.

"You blamed yourself," Sam interjected, and she nodded.

"I blamed myself," she admitted. "Did you do the same thing?"

"Over and over again," he sighed, his gaze becoming muted and unfocused once more. "I kept wondering if I'd done things differently, if perhaps I'd tried harder, if I'd forgiven more or simply made myself forget the things that happened continually…"

"How did it die between the two of you?" she questioned, feeling a sympathetic pang in her gut.

"I'm not entirely certain," he shrugs. "You have to understand, the Colleen you knew, the woman who treated you so abominably and kept me from my granddaughter, she was not the young woman I fell in love with and married. She lost herself—the kind and gentle parts of herself, at least, when she became a mother."

"That's strange," Mary observed, and Sam chuckled, only increasing her confusion. Parts of her softened the moment she held Anna in her arms for the first time, even though she missed Charles to the point of pain the moment his daughter first latched on to her breast. She couldn't imagine motherhood sharpening the edges of a woman's personality—it defied everything that she thought she knew.

"I'd call it tragic," Sam continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "We'd lost three children before Charles was born, you see. I don't know if he ever told you, but we had two sons before him—both premature, both stillborn. Then Colleen miscarried fairly early on in her third pregnancy." He cleared his throat, the sound seeming to echo in the space around them. "A part of Colleen died with each child," Sam explained. "And with every loss, she shut herself away from me even further. No matter what I did, no matter what I said or tried to say, I couldn't seem to get through to her."

She saw it clearly, somehow, how frustration could gradually turn into acceptance, how hope could be snuffed out with each loss and persistent rejection until there was very little left that remained.

"I'm so sorry," Mary interjected, feeling her insides grow cold. She couldn't imagine losing three children in such a manner, especially after enduring an entire pregnancy and going through the birthing process. "That had to be difficult for her—for both of you."

"It was," he acknowledged. He looked older, somehow, his shoulders slumping in a manner that made her ache for him. "I'd given up, actually, and had resigned myself to the fact that I would never be a father. And then she got pregnant again, this time with Charles." He paused, taking a long sip of his coffee. "From the moment he was born, Colleen hovered over him, trying to protect him from anything and everything," Sam explained. "She was terrified of letting him live, this living child we'd been given, and she treated him more like a glass doll than a growing boy."

"I suppose that's understandable," Mary stated.

"Yes," Sam acknowledged. "But he became her obsession instead of her son, and she feared him leaving her above all else. He wasn't allowed to sleep over at a friend's house or go to summer camp. Christ, when he had his first girlfriend, you would have thought the world was coming to an end. I feared the roof would cave in the week leading up to prom, and Charles wouldn't speak to his mother for weeks after her persistence finally chased the girl off. She feared losing him so much that she was never able to enjoy the son that she'd been given, Mary. It very nearly destroyed her relationship with Charles. It did destroy ours."

They sat in silence a few seconds, allowing freshly exposed emotion to settle.

"No wonder she resented me," Mary muttered, more to herself than to Sam.

"She saw how much Charles loved you," Sam added, reaching out to touch her arm. "And she could see the writing on the wall. He'd finally chosen another woman over her in her mind, and she couldn't see past her own unfounded jealously to be happy for him."

"Even his child was a threat?" Mary questioned, this topsy-turvy logic beginning to make her dizzy.

"I think Anna was more of a reminder that she'd ultimately lost, at least in her eyes," Sam stated, his expression weighted and dark. "She struck out at you in revenge for stealing her son and hurt a perfectly innocent little girl in the process. What she did was terrible, Mary, there is no other way to describe it."

Her head was swimming even as pieces of a contorted puzzle started fitting themselves together. Her child had been de-humanized in the eyes of her very own grandmother, reduced to nothing but an irritant she chose to write off without a second thought. All of a sudden, Mary felt very, very cold.

"After Charles died, well, there was nothing left of us," Sam continued, his tone laced with tinges of regret and disgust. "She completely withdrew into the shell of a bitter and spiteful woman, one I couldn't stomach being around, so I chose to grieve in silence. We barely even spoke after his funeral. She kept to her part of the house, and I kept to mine." Mary wrapped her arms around his shoulders impulsively, taking him by surprise before he hugged her back. There was comfort here, absolution for both of them, and she soaked it in greedily, allowing Sam to do the same.

"Grieving alone is hard," Mary stated, and he nodded in agreement.

"It's debilitating in some ways," he said. "By the time Colleen actually died, I just felt empty. And then, I got Anna's letter, and…" His voice quivered as his eyes began to fill, and they drew back from each other, still sitting close. "I'd forgotten," he managed. "How freeing it was to feel love—living, breathing love, how much hope and life it actually gives you. I'd been dead inside for so long." His eyes were misting over again, and she hurt for him, this man who'd lost his wife years before she'd actually died.

"We shut down sometimes, when life wounds us so badly," Mary added. "It's a natural reaction, a way to protect ourselves from hurting anymore."

"But you've managed to move past that," Sam observed.

"I'm trying," Mary confessed. "But sometimes…" She paused, feeling old, familiar fears creep in where they were unwanted. "Sometimes I'm still frightened that now that things are so good for Anna and me, that somehow, well, the other shoe will drop."

"I think that's a fear everybody shares to some degree," Sam acknowledged. "But if we give into it—" Her pulse leaped into her neck, her fingers trembling involuntarily.

"We forget to live," she finished for him, seeing him nod in acknowledgement. They smiled at each other, smiles of shared life experiences, and Sam took her hand in his own once again. "Ask Isobel out," Mary prompted, catching the older man by surprise. "Sooner rather than later." He grinned back at her, giving her fingers a squeeze.

"Marry Matthew," he stated, making her eyes widen to twice their normal size. "When he asks, or whenever you decide to ask him. Whichever comes first."

A puff of air escaped her, and she laughed, a gurgling sound that bubbled up from her insides.

"I thought he was about to tonight," she confessed, feeling her cheeks heat under his scrutiny. "But the stomach flu had other plans. I could have been wrong, I know, but…"

"I doubt that you were," Sam cut in. "Isobel and I had a small wager going, actually. She thought he'd propose on Christmas. I told her I thought he'd wait until a less conspicuous time and try to surprise you."

"A wager," she exclaimed incredulously, shutting her mouth when she realized it was gaping open. "I suppose I should be offended."

"You probably should be, but I'm glad you're not," Sam added with a grin. "He makes you happy, Mary, as you do him. A second chance to love like that, well, we don't always get those in this life."

She missed Matthew already, she realized, even though they'd been together just hours ago. But he was her family now, he and Belle, pieces of her life that had become so vital to her existence that she couldn't imagine being without them. She wanted them both here with her and Anna, all the time, every day, every night. She was tired of splitting their time between two houses.

"I know," she agreed with a slow nod. "Believe me."

"And Charles would approve, you know." A warmth that was her former lover flowed everywhere at once, and she squeezed Sam's hand in return.

"He'd approve of Isobel, too," she dared, raising her brow for emphasis. "He'd want us both to be happy, Sam." He wiped his cheek before raising his mug, moving it once again in Mary's direction.

"To Charles," he offered, clinking their cups together yet again.

"To us," she added, sipping her coffee as fresh snow began to fall just outside.

* * *

 

Belle got sick two days later, recovering faster than her counterpart as she had come down with a lighter case than Anna had suffered. So it seemed entirely unfair to Matthew that he was hit with the worst case of all on December 30th, heaving until he was certain nothing remained in his stomach only to be plagued by the diarrhea so persistent he was afraid to leave the bathroom. Isobel offered to stay and take care of him, but it was decided between her and Mary that the wisest course of action would be for Isobel to take the girls for a couple of days and for Mary to move in and take care of Matthew.

This, of course, had been decided without consulting him.

So Mary had arrived on his doorstep a few hours ago, suitcase in hand. She had let herself in and quickly situated herself in the guest room to give him some space and a modicum of privacy. He'd never been more humiliated in his life. So he sat on the toilet, trash can at his feet, feeling the room sway around him as his stomach continued to make inhuman noises.

"I have a fresh _Sprite_ for you."

He stared at the bathroom door separating them, rubbing his temples in protest.

"Set it by the bed," he instructed, knowing he needed to drink but afraid that even something as mild as _Sprite_ would make him start retching all over again.

"Why don't I just give it to you now?" she suggested. "I can set it beside you on the sink."

"No," he cut in, sounding far harsher than he should. "No thank you." There was a measured moment of silence.

"Don't be ridiculous, Matthew," she commanded from the other side of the door. "You need fluids."

"I don't want you to see me like this, Mary," he shot back, groaning as a sharp cramp hit him out of nowhere. He moaned out loud, wishing he could call back the sound.

"Like what?" she asked. "With your pants down? I have news for you, Crawley, I've seen you naked on more than one occasion. I'm well acquainted with your ass, and I know what shit smells like. It's not as if you're the only person on the planet to ever suffer from diarrhea."

"Mary," he tried, wanting to scream, cry and throw something breakable at the same time. "Please." He heard her shuffling, and he sighed in relief just before he heard her angry retort.

"Fine. Fall off the toilet for all I care."

He'd made her mad. Great, just great. One day before he had hoped to propose to her, he'd managed to piss her off and make a mess of himself and her good intentions. He knew he smelled, and he felt disgusting, at least two shades away from being human. Shit, he didn't want to be around himself at the moment. How could he subject her to the utter grossness he'd inflicted upon the bathroom over the past twenty-four hours?

"Mary?"

There was no response, no sound at all, in fact, and he wondered for a moment if he'd actually managed to make her so angry that she'd stormed out of the house. Then he heard some pots and pans clatter in the kitchen, and he exhaled in relief, the fact that she was still there somehow a comfort, even though he didn't want her to see him. Christ, he was pathetic.

"Mary?" He'd managed to actually yell that time, and he heard her moving in his direction.

"Are you alright?" She sounded concerned, and he felt like a rat, a stinky, disgusting rat torn between appeasing the woman he loved and his own self-preservation.

"I'm disgusting," he admitted, staring at his bathrobe that hung from a hook on the door. "Completely and utterly disgusting, Mary." He heard her sigh through the door frame.

"And?"

He swallowed, wishing he had that _Sprite_ she had poured to get rid of the horrible taste in his mouth.

"That's all," he uttered, feeling almost as if he were eleven years old.

"You're sick," she stated. "And all that goes along with being sick. Do you honestly think I'm so fickle that I'll take off forever if I'm subjected to watching you vomit?"

"Of course not," he shot back. "It's just…"

"And if we have another child together," she continued, undeterred by his protest. "Are you planning on being with me during labor? Because, let me tell you, Crawley, childbirth is far more disgusting than a bad case of the stomach flu, I can promise you that."

"Mary, I—" He paused, breathing in as deeply as he could, wishing he had the strength to take a simple shower. "I just hate…I hate for you be subjected to this."

"Did you miss the part where I love you?"

He was breaking, he could feel it, and he pushed himself up from the toilet, determined to at least have his pants up before he let her walk in the room. His legs felt unsteady, and he sat back down on the toilet almost as quickly as he'd stood, making certain everything was flushed down, rubbing his cheeks in resignation.

"Come in," he murmured, almost afraid to look at her as the door opened. He wasn't certain what he'd expected, but it wasn't the sight that greeted him: Mary, wearing an over-sized UK sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, hair up in a sloppy ponytail, no makeup on at all.

"What?" she asked at his obvious surprise. "Did you expect me to come tend to the sick wearing heels and my black dress?" She grinned then, and he grinned back at her, unable to help himself.

"You'd be torturing me if you'd worn that dress," he managed, earning himself a full-fledged smile. She set the glass of _Sprite_ down beside him, moving forward and cradling his head to her chest.

"I don't torture sick people," she retorted, her fingers lightly massaging his scalp one of the most amazing sensations he'd ever felt in his life. He could die happy like this, he mused, his face resting between her breasts, her soothing touch prompting him to close his eyes and simply breathe.

"You don't have to do this," he protested.

"Of course I do," she shot back. "And if you say you wouldn't do the same for me, I'm tossing those season tickets into the fireplace." He smiled again just before a yawn took over, one that stretched his entire face. "Can you make it to bed?" she asked, and he sat up straight to determine just how likely it was that he'd get sick again between the bathroom and his mattress. "Or should I bring a pillow and blanket in here?"

"Let's try for the bed," he finally stated. She took his hand and helped to hoist him up, allowing him to lean on her during the short journey. "I can walk, you know."

"I know," she said. "Just lean on me and make me feel important, alright." He sat gingerly on the edge of his bed, allowing his insides to settle before sliding his feet under the blankets.

"You and the girls," he began, licking dry lips with a grimace. "You're the most important things in the world to me, Mary." Her hand felt cool to his forehead, and she disappeared back into the bathroom, returning with the _Sprite_. He propped himself up on his elbows, and she helped him get some of it down, tucking him in as he'd seen her do with Anna and Belle on numerous occasions.

"As you are to us," she added, sitting beside him as she tucked a lock of hair back in place. "Now get some rest. That's an order."

"Yes ma'am," he replied, adoring the sly grin she tossed him. "God, I feel like I could sleep for days."

"Then do it," she stated. "I'll make sure to wake you just long enough to ring in the New Year."

His heart plummeted then, and he felt sick for reasons that had nothing to do with the blasted stomach flu he'd caught from the girls.

"What a lousy way to ring in the New Year," he moaned, closing his eyes as she shushed him softly.

"It could be worse," she returned. "Besides, we can have a proper celebration when you're all recovered. Who cares if it's the actual holiday or not?"

He tried to smile, and he must have succeeded, for she kissed his forehead and left the room, turning off his light after making certain a small trash can was right next to his bed. New Year's Eve—the night he had planned to propose, now botched by his own illness just as Christmas had been squelched by Anna's. Shit, was he going to have to wait until Valentine's Day after all? Another month and a half of waiting and planning, trying not to be too obvious while he wanted to begin planning a future for their family? Christ, she'd even mentioned having a baby with him, something they'd discussed in passing, but to hear her mention him being with her in labor and delivery…

He'd never make it to February.

Who cares if it's an actual holiday or not? He shouldn't, he knew that, and perhaps it was better if he took her completely off-guard, choosing some random night in January to sweep her off of her feet and ask her if she'd agree to spend the rest of her life with him. Mary, Anna, Belle, and any other children they may have—a family, his family. Yes, he'd do it as soon as he was able, and he'd do it right, not some spur of the moment proposal on the sofa or a question tossed into a celebration already in progress. Valentine's Day would be Valentine's Day, but this—this night would be about her, about them, about their girls and their future, about the life he wanted to build with her by his side.

"Forget the fucking plan," he murmured to himself, his voice slurring as his body finally gave into weariness, allowing him to finally slip into blessed oblivion.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A message from Tony's mother sends Mary into an emotional tailspin.

Planning the perfect scenario to propose to the woman you love was quite a bit more challenging than it should have been, especially when one factored in two children, a mother, a for all intents and purposes father-in-law, unpredictable January weather, the stomach flu, and one very complex and sometimes aggravating female. Add on to that one excessively grueling work week and unforeseen car trouble, and Matthew was ready to spit nails and pull out his hair rather than purchase flowers and plan the perfect night of romance.

"A new compressor?" Mary repeated, clearly distracted on the other end of the phone by a conversation Anna was trying to have with her at the same time. "Is that expensive?"

"Not too bad," Matthew answered, rubbing the bridge of his nose, wishing to God he could just start the day over. "But not exactly something I'd planned on." Her voice was muffled as she clearly started losing it with her daughter, and he heard what sounded like small feet pounding up the steps accompanied by a few shrieks from an angry little girl, thanking his lucky stars that Belle was happily entertaining herself with her Barbies at the moment and not saying a word.

"I'm sorry," she uttered letting out a long, weary sigh. "She's in a mood."

"So am I," he confessed, hearing her make a small noise in the receiver. "Perhaps I should go to my room, too." He heard a low chuckle and the scrape of a chair, hoping she was allowing herself a moment to sit and rest. She was as exhausted as he was if the tone of her voice was any indication, and he remembered that she'd volunteered today at the girls' school and had stayed afterwards to help tutor a little boy struggling with math. "Long day?" he asked her as he moved to the couch so he could stretch out for a bit.

"No," she answered. "Just busy. And I didn't sleep well last night."

"That's rough," he stated, sighing as he laid his head down on a pillow. "Something on your mind?" She sighed again, and he immediately knew something was up, something she was reluctant to talk about, evidently.

"I heard from Tony's mother last night."

Oh.

He sat up taller at that, frowning at this turn of events he hadn't seen coming.

"Did she call you?" he questioned, wondering why she hadn't mentioned this until now.

"Texted," Mary replied, her tone dropping a notch or two. "After Anna and Sam had both gone to bed. They're on the West Coast, remember?" She paused to swallow, and he felt his heart beat more insistently, certain that something was eating at her, wishing he could be there to wrap her up in his arms until she felt comfortable enough to tell him.

"What did she want?" he asked, keeping his tone as gentle as he could. She said nothing for a moment, making his unease just increase by the second. "Mary, I—"

"It was about Anna," Mary cut in. "They sent her some money for Christmas, so she sent them a thank you card in return. Evidently, she told them all about her new grandfather, her friend Belle, and you—the man who wasn't her real daddy like Charles, but the man she'd like to be her daddy one day soon." His stomach clenched as understanding took root.

"She didn't mention Tony," he uttered, hearing Mary sniff on the other end.

"Not a word," Mary confirmed. "She'd already sealed the envelope when she gave it to me, so I didn't have a chance to read it over before we mailed it. Matthew, I didn't even think…" She trailed off, pausing to catch her breath. "Carol is afraid that I'm letting her forget Tony, the man who in her words raised her and gave her a name, and she told me in no uncertain terms that it was my duty to make sure that Anna doesn't forget him."

"That's absurd," he put in, suddenly wanting very much to have a chat with Carol Gillingham and give her a piece of his mind.

"Is it?" He heard the crack in her voice, a day's worth of pent-up weariness seeping through her smart phone into his heart. "Is it really, Matthew?" She paused again, moving the phone away from her to clear her throat. "Anna doesn't remember Tony—he hardly raised her, for Christ's sake. He's been dead nearly two years now, and he was overseas most of her life. He was good to her, yes, but he never acted like her father—not really. I'm not sure if that's because he was uncomfortable with my distance or really had issues raising another man's child, but whatever it was, he never called her his daughter, never went out of his way to spend time with her, even though he was always kind." She was breathing heavily now, and he feared she might not sleep well again tonight if she worked herself up into a frenzy. "I fucked this whole thing up, Matthew," she muttered. "By marrying Tony in the first place. God, I was so stupid, I don't know why I even thought it was a good idea, but I did it. And now Carol is hurt, and she has a right to be, I guess. I mean, I did marry her son, and he did leave a tidy sum for Anna and me. But he wasn't her father, biologically or emotionally. I mean, I know adoptive fathers can be just as loving and nurturing, don't get me wrong, but that wasn't his nature. He wasn't like you."

His pulse sped up three paces as he tried to swallow, knowing she was upset but still feeling her words about him hit hard and sound.

"Mary," he whispered, hearing her choke down a small sob. "Listen to me. You don't need to go down this road anymore, alright? You married Tony. He knew you were grieving when he proposed—he knew you were pregnant and that Charles was the father. He instigated the entire situation with eyes wide open, so don't keep lugging around blame you don't need. He was a grown man, for God's sake."

"I know." Her tone was weak and resigned, a sound he wasn't used to hearing coming from her. "But I could have been a better wife."

His stomach dropped as he thought of the night he was planning less than seventy-two hours away—the night he was going to ask her to become a wife again, his wife. He couldn't have her feeling less than worthy of such a title when she was anything but.

"Don't, Mary," he pleaded softly. "Don't do this to yourself." She was crying on the other end—shit—he hated that a few texts could reduce her to this state without warning. He knew how much shame she carried when it came to her marriage to Tony, what a poor excuse for a wife she considered herself to have been.

"Matthew...I…I can't…" Choked sobs cut her off, and he heard her cough in the background. He was suddenly tempted to simply grab up Belle, throw her in the car and drive them both over to Mary's for the rest of the night. "I've got to go."

"Mary," he said. "Wait. Let me come over—I'll bring Belle—"

"No," she interrupted. "Belle has school tomorrow, and Anna's in a terrible mood."

"I don't care," he stated flatly. "I'll pack Belle a bag. I'll drive both girls to school tomorrow on my way to work, I'll feed them breakfast, for God's sake. Just, just let me—I don't like you being alone right now." It all came out in a rush, leaving him slightly short of breath as his head fell back against the pillow. He wondered briefly if any of what he'd said made sense, if she'd been able to register a word of it.

"Sam's here," she uttered, all the fight drained out of her voice. So she was considering it, at least.

"Do you think he'll care if I'm there, too?" he asked. "God, Mary, I'm not coming over for sex. I just want to hold you, to be with you while you're hurting, to help you get a good night's sleep." She sniffed several times as she silently pondered his offer. He could practically hear the wheels in her head turning from where he sat.

"Alright." He nearly dropped the phone.

"Alright?" he repeated, needing to make certain he'd heard her correctly.

"Yes, alright," she clarified. "Shall I spell it for you?"

A bit of her bite was back. Good.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," he returned, walking back towards Belle's room as he spoke. "Pour yourself a drink and breathe, alright?" She made a small noise of appreciation.

"I'm tempted to break out the bourbon cream," she mused softly, and he stopped just outside his daughter's door, leaning his back against the wall as he smiled for the first time in hours.

"Save some for me," he returned, stepping into Belle's room, trying not to step on Barbies and various stuffed animals as he made his way towards the girl. "I love you, Mary." She sniffed again.

"I love you, too." She then ended the call.

Belle was more than excited about the unexpected sleep-over, thinking of it as a slumber party no matter how many times Matthew reminded her that she had to get up for school the next day.

"It's gonna snow, Daddy," Belle stated, staring at her father as if he'd missed the most obvious fact in the world. "My teacher said so yesterday."

"There's a thirty percent chance," Matthew clarified as she began to throw clothes and toys into her duffle bag. "That's not a very high chance, Belle. And even then, it doesn't mean you won't have school."

"It's better than twenty," the girl insisted. "I think I should pack my snow boots just in case we have a snow day." He couldn't help but chuckle.

It was thirty minutes later rather than twenty when they pulled up to Mary's house, and Belle practically sprang out of the car and ran to the steps, her bag dragging the ground behind her. She'd rang the doorbell before Matthew grabbed his bag from the trunk, and he smiled as his daughter threw herself into Mary's arms when she opened the door, his heart squeezing as Mary ruffled Belle's hair and kissed the top of her head.

"Come on, Daddy," Belle called back as she moved into the house. He saw Anna just behind Mary, bad mood apparently forgotten as the two girls began to jump up and down. But his eyes fixed on the woman standing there waiting for him wearing an oversized sweatshirt, leggings and wool socks, her hair just tucked back into sloppy ponytail that made him want to pull her close and never let her go.

"Get in here, Crawley," she instructed as she held the door open for him. "It's freezing." He moved next to her and kissed her lips gently, tasting the lingering warmth of hot chocolate and cinnamon.

"Chocolate," he mused as he moved inside so she could shut the door. "You did break out the big guns."

"Saving the bourbon until the girls go to bed," she whispered, her eyes not as red as he'd worried they might be. The tip of her nose was pink, but otherwise she looked calm, collected, far steadier than she'd sounded only minutes earlier. "I'm glad you're here."

"So am I," he muttered, weaving his fingers around the back of her head, her small smile hitting him everywhere at once. Sam came into the room then, giving Matthew a pat on the back before sitting down in the oversized chair he liked so much.

"Good to see you," the older man stated with a smile.

"You, too, Sam," Matthew returned as Mary took his coat and hung it up on the coat rack.

"You're a brave man to venture out when it's going to snow," Sam mused as he picked up a book off of the coffee table.

"Has the forecast changed?" Matthew questioned, receiving a shake of the head from Mary in return.

"Sam fancies himself a bit of a weather man," Mary explained, leading them to the sofa, sliding her legs under her as they sat.

"A hobby," Same expounded with a grin. "And I'm usually right."

"We'll see about that," Mary grinned, flicking a brow in Sam's direction as she burrowed her feet under Matthew's legs.

"How is it your toes are cold in those socks?" he asked. "They're thick enough to keep Rudolph's feet nice and toasty while he's out flying around the globe."

"My toes are always cold," she replied. "I thought you knew that by now."

"So are mine," Anna tossed in just before she and Belle dashed up the stairs to the girl's bedroom. "And Rudolph has hooves, not feet."

"She's right, you know," Mary uttered just before he nudged her playfully. "And I think reindeer are oblivious to cold, so your argument is moot."

"Yeah, Daddy," Belle cried out. "Reindeers don't wear socks!" A chorus of giggles filtered down the hallway as Anna's bedroom door slammed shut.

"Do they have any idea that bedtime is in half an hour?" he murmured, making the other two adults laugh.

"No," she stated. "But we'll be reminding them in twenty." The girls were tucked in forty-five minutes later, lights were turned off and bedtime kisses bestowed amidst a round or two of tickling and least a dozen good-nights.

"I could really use a shower," Mary breathed as they walked down the steps, careful to shut the door behind them. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Go," he smiled, giving her a slight shove towards her bedroom when they were back on the ground floor. "I think it will help you relax. Not that you need to do that, or anything." She tossed him a grateful glance over her shoulder as she slipped into her bedroom. He stared after her, biting his lower lip, thinking about the ring he had tucked away in a dresser drawer back at his house, a ring he couldn't wait to slide onto her finger.

"I'm glad you're here, Matthew." Sam hadn't moved from his chair in over an hour, his eyes were still fixed to his book.

"So am I," Matthew returned, moving back to the sofa where he'd sat with Mary earlier. "Thanks for not making a big deal out of my staying over."

"It's Mary's house," the older man shrugged. "And her life, as well. What I think is irrelevant, although…" He paused, setting his book down on his lap. "I think the two of you are good for each other."

Matthew leaned back into the cushions, rubbing his fingers over his scalp.

"So do I," he admitted with a small smile. "God knows she's good for me." Sam took a sip of his coffee, his gaze moving back to Matthew as he set the mug back down.

"I knew something was bothering her today," the older man stated. "But I didn't want to pry, and she didn't seem inclined to tell me. Don't misunderstand me—I'm not asking you to betray a confidence—I don't have the right. But she clearly needed you, and you came. That says a lot in my book."

"I love her," Matthew said. "It's a simple as that." Sam smiled back at him with a thoughtful nod.

"Good," he replied. "She deserves that."

"Yes," Matthew returned. "She does, even when she doesn't believe it herself."

"That's the way it usually is, isn't it?" Sam mused. "So often, we don't realize we deserve better than we've had, we get so used to life the way we've been living it." He stopped to take another sip of his coffee, clearing his throat before he continued. "Our own misconceptions can keep us from embracing the life we were meant to have. It's tragic when you stop and think how many people have missed out on happiness because they were afraid to believe it could happen for them."

Matthew studied the man across from him, rubbing his temple absent-mindedly.

"We're not just talking about Mary anymore, are we?" he questioned, smiling back at the man now smiling at him.

"No," Sam confirmed as he leaned back in his chair. "We're not." They sat in an amiable silence as seconds ticked by audibly on an old clock Mary had inherited from her grandmother. "Where have you hidden the ring?"

Matthew's head jerked up in three directions at once.

"How did you—" He stopped as Sam began to smile. "You didn't know, did you?" Matthew surmised with an exhale through his nostrils. Sam was chuckling now, enjoying his discovery for all it was worth.

"I didn't know for certain," he answered. "But I was pretty damned sure. Your mother is, as well." Matthew shook his head, feeling his face heat up under the scrutiny.

"I was hoping to propose this weekend," he confessed, keeping his voice down even though he could hear the shower running through the walls.

"What's stopping you?" Sam asked, sitting up taller and propping his elbow on the arm of the chair.

"Nothing," Matthew began. "I just don't want to rush her if she's feeling guilt over…" Shit. He'd nearly told Sam everything that was bothering Mary without realizing it.

"Over her marriage to Tony?" Sam guessed. "Is that what this is all about? Christ, that relationship really did a number on her, didn't it?"

"She's spoken with you about it, then?" Matthew questioned, receiving a slow nod in return.

"Somewhat," Sam replied. "I know she feels an unhealthy amount of shame over the fact that their marriage was basically a failure," he continued. "Even though for all intents and purposes, she was a young widow facing the daunting task of raising a child on her own."

"I've never been able to figure it out," Matthew murmured. "Why he would propose, knowing how raw and wounded she was, and then expect her to actually act like a wife." Sam shook his head in agreement.

"I can't either," he stated. "She felt guilty enough when Tony was alive and even guiltier after he was killed. That's not fair for a woman still mourning the father of her baby."

"No," Matthew agreed. "It's not." The clock continued its ticking as the wind picked up outside.

"Don't let her past stop you," Sam said, making Matthew sit up straighter in his seat. "Don't waste the time you have now because she still struggles over what happened with Tony." Matthew eyeballed the older man directly, scooting to the edge of the couch.

"In other words, go ahead and propose?" he whispered, craning his neck so he could see her door as he heard the water being shut off.

"I would," Sam returned. "Life's too short not to seize happiness when it's right in front of you." He chuckled then, licking his lips as thought after thought tumbled over in his brain.

"I'd ask her tonight if she weren't so stressed and exhausted," Matthew confessed. "And if I hadn't left the ring at my house." The sound of a hair dryer was heard through the closed door.

"Can I do anything to help?" An idea started forming, one that kept rolling over and over in his mind, and he nearly laughed at the simplicity of it, wondering why he hadn't thought of it before.

"You know, Sam," Matthew muttered, his face breaking out into a broad grin. "There is. There really and truly is."

* * *

 

 "Thank you for coming over."

She rested her cheek on his chest, reveling in the warmth passing from his body to her own, the chill from the outside still threatening to seep in even after a hot shower. "I had to," he uttered, his fingers stroking her back under her flannel nightshirt he'd somehow managed to ruck up above her waist. "I couldn't stand to hear you hurting like that."

She closed her eyes and breathed him in. Her throat felt thick again, but not unmanageably so, and she slid one arm up and around his shoulder, clutching his bicep as she nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck.

"She got to me."

She felt his exhale as his arms tightened about her and pulled her in even closer.

"I know," he uttered. "And it makes me so angry." The smattering of hair on his chest ticked her skin as she shook her head.

"I don't think that was what Carol intended," Mary tried to reason. "I mean, I think she wanted a reaction out of me, but I don't think she was going for anger."

"I agree," Matthew replied, unable to keep an edge of bitterness from his tone. "She wanted to side-swipe you and make you feel guilty for living your life and moving on after Tony's death."

The stifling weight that always accompanied memories of Tony pressed in on her chest as if she were being stepped on by a baby elephant. Her head began to spin and her ribs ached, making it difficult to breathe in and out. Dammit—she hated this feeling, like she was being pulled under by weights fastened to her ankles, and she shut her eyes to block out tiny black spots dotting her vision and to steady the relentless pounding in her chest. She felt him shift beside her, moving their bodies until she was lying on her back and he was propped on his elbows above her, his nose nearly touching hers.

"Hey," he whispered just over her lips. "Look at me." His body heat rushed over her, his voice beckoning her back to the surface. Her eyelids fluttered of their own accord until she was able to focus on him and only him, the rest of the bedroom fading into a gray haze around her. He was gazing at her with such concern and tenderness she nearly had to look away, the emotions she witnessed in his eyes almost too strong for her to process. "Mary. Love." His voice was a balm, a blanket, a caress that worked its way up from the soles of her feet to her rib cage, allowing her breathing to temper itself and the slight ringing in her ears to subside. She could almost feel her pupils focus as clarity was restored to her mind, the swirls of fog in her brain finally lifting enough to allow her to experience the here and now rather than what had been.

"There you are," Matthew breathed, cupping the side of her face with his palm as his thumb brushed her hair from her forehead. He gave her that lopsided grin that never failed to do things to her, and she reached up to touch him, threading fingers in his hair before clutching his head and pulling him close. She needed him.

"I was such an idiot, Matthew," she murmured into his ear, her body shaking at the force of her admission. He engulfed her in his arms as they wrapped completely around her body, pushing her nightshirt up even more, and she allowed herself to absorb the feel of him on her skin as an almost primal urge to imprint him on her body shot threw her with the speed of a bullet train.

"No," he corrected her gently. "You were grieving." He pushed off of her far enough to be able to kiss her, taking in one lip at a time, sucking her, licking her, pressing his lips to each corner of her mouth in turn, allowing his tongue to barely touch down even as every stroke singed her like wildfire. "I want you to stop punishing yourself for that."

Tears pressed up and over, wetting her cheeks, trickling down the side of her face to tickle her ear, and he brushed them away with his thumb, his fingers, his mouth, allowing her to roll herself on top of him and cry into his bare chest. His cotton boxers felt cool and soft against her legs even though the rest of him was warm. He was always warm, like a human hot water bottle just as Charles had been, a presence that soothed her and thawed her frozen pieces until her extremities tingled and her heart was free to soar.

"I love you," she breathed, feeling her declaration from the inside out as his fingers moved back up the bare skin of her spine. She pressed herself into a sitting position, trembling at the sensation of flannel sliding back down her body and pooling at her thighs as she straddled him. She tugged her hair behind her ears, her breasts beginning to tingle as she started to rock back and forth on top of him. She needed this, a physical connection to the man who brought her back from the abyss, the man who was loving her through her past and into her future.

"Mary," he uttered. His tone dark and heavy and the consistency of maple syrup. She loved how he said her name, with such depth and reverence it could almost be a prayer. She felt like a goddess atop him, and a wet heat spread over her body, prompting her to peel off her night shirt and toss it to the floor without a second thought. She wanted to be bare before him, wanted him bare to her, wanted to join their bodies and move until they both fell into a slick and sloppy heap after pleasuring each other over and over again until they couldn't take any more. He watched her, licking his lips, moving his hands over her upper thighs until she hummed out a laugh from the bottom of her lungs, one that seemed to go straight to his groin. His touch moved to her breasts, and he cupped her, tugged at her nipples, pinching them until she let out a soft, strangled cry that made him begin to harden underneath her.

"Like that," she hummed. "But harder."

He let out a growl that hit her right between her legs, setting off a low pulse she was determined to satisfy. He stopped being gentle, which was good—she didn't want him to be gentle, she wanted him fierce and hot, and she rocked faster against his growing erection. She wanted him to take her hard, to leave her breathless and spent and wobbly-limbed, to make her come until she couldn't see or think straight for the rest of the night.

"You're killing me," he managed as she stopped to ruck his boxers down and off, taking him into her hand and working him over until he was hot to the touch.

"Good," she hummed, leaning down to trail her tongue up his torso. He hissed and jerked in her hand, his reaction urging her forward until she took his nipple in her teeth, nipping down as his fingers dug into her bottom. "These are coming off," he murmured, clasping the edge of her panties and tugging them down one leg and then the other. She pressed herself up and kicked them the rest of the way down, emboldened by the way he looked at her, his gaze heated and hungry.

"Want something, Crawley?" she asked, noting just where his gaze was lingering. She allowed her fingers to slide down her torso and tease the edge of her curls, gasping at the nearly animalistic expression in his eyes as she rocked her hips into her own hand. God, it felt wanton and wicked and absolutely glorious, and she teased herself with her fingers, toying with skin and hair, her eyes heavy and fastened on him. He licked his lips, watching her every move, afraid to blink as her touch moved lower and inward until she threw her head back and gave a low moan. She rubbed herself and laughed at the freedom of it, her nipples hardening even more when she heard him curse under his breath. His hands gripped her thighs and he tugged her forward, ever forward as he slid off the pillow and down the mattress, working his way beneath her until she was straddling his face. She felt his breath hot against her core, and she widened her stance, lowering herself in the process.

This was going to be good.

His nose teased her inner thigh, his lips pressed kisses up and down, teasing her, making her crazy as the touched her everywhere but where she wanted him most.

"I love the way you smell," he murmured, his voice vibrating against her inner thigh, zinging into nerves and muscle. He nipped her flesh with his teeth, making her jump in place as she reached out and grabbed the headboard for balance. His nose flicked against her just before he pressed a kiss so close to where she ached, so close, so damn close, but not quite there.

"Stop teasing," she warned, knowing by his chuckle he was amused by her command. "I mean it, Matthew."

"Hmmm," he hummed, moving to her right rather than dead center, using his teeth again, turning up her internal fire at least ten degrees. "I'd never tease you." His tongue flicked her just then, making her entire body jerk at the sudden onset and loss of sensation. "Not to mention the way you taste," he breathed, making his way across her flat tongued as she groaned audibly. Her entire body spasmed, and she gripped the headboard to keep her balance, his hands steadying her hips as she balanced white knuckled and open-mouthed. He rimmed her edges this time, flicking and marking, pausing to use his lips on her folds before adjusting himself for just the angle he wanted.

"Matthew," she managed, her head dropping between her extended arms as his licks picked up in tempo, his fingers holding her rear end steady.

"Hold on," he directed, tossing her a grin she could only describe as wicked before his face disappeared underneath her. Her breath hitched in her throat as his tongue danced over her again. It was a good thing he was holding her or she might just sit on his face, and as tempting as that maneuver sounded to her thighs, it probably wouldn't make his life any easier.

"Shit," she muttered breathlessly as he began to strike up a steady tempo, swirling around her opening with laps and playful flicks, finally venturing inside of her. Her head lolled back and she moaned, she couldn't help it, her body bucking upward instinctively against his mouth as he held her steady. She bit her lip to keep herself quiet, but damn, it was difficult when he was devouring her like a ripe peach. Her lips parted, her breathing labored and sporadic as he continued his onslaught, moving from one side to the next, stimulating her everywhere, changing his strokes, his position, the amount of pressure he used until her walls her clenching along with her stomach. He was avoiding her clit, she noticed, and God, she wanted him there, needed him there, knew she'd come quickly if he turned his attention to that spot and went to work. She shifted over him, trying to give him the hint.

"Be still," he instructed with a chuckle, ceasing his ministrations momentarily. "I'll get there, Mary. I know what you want." Damn cocky bastard.

"Then get to it," she insisted, gasping as she felt a finger slid inside of her and started to work her over. God, this was good—glorious, even—and when he put his tongue to work, too… She couldn't think anymore. She was breathing heavily, straining higher, pulsing and burning in different places at once. She just needed a bit more, no, needed him a bit higher, but he then slid his tongue over her spot, barely grazing it but making her whimper as she tried not to cry out.

"Matthew…" She needed….he had to…oh… just there. Yes. Like that. No wait—he shifted. Damn it—she needed him to just move back. Then he did, or she did, she wasn't certain, but she was dying and reeling and climbing up and up and up. Then another digit went in her, his mouth finally finding her clit, and she started shaking as he sucked her, pressing higher and higher until everything seized inward and tightened. She exploded with his name on her lips and her grip on the bed so tight it hurt. Her hands left the headboard and moved into her hair, and she rode him out as he prolonged her orgasm, tonguing her harder as he kept her as still as he could. But he didn't stop then, though her thighs were burning and her body on fire. He kept going, kept eating her, pumping her, finding that rough spot within her that made her pitch forward and grab the headboard again. Her legs started to shake, threatening to give out under the strain of simply keeping herself upright.

"Hold on," he uttered, his tone husky and raw as he paused to flip her over, pressing her back into the mattress while he slid down her body and parted her legs. He spread her wider as she hissed through her teeth, her back arching off the bed in anticipation of his touch. She was already overly-sensitive, both wanting and half-dreading his touch. She hadn't realized her body was jerking until he laid his palm flat just below her naval, giving her a moment to breathe and refocus before his mouth began a new onslaught that made her gasp. He started again with light pressure, but that lasted only a few seconds, the pace and pressure picking up the moment he reinserted his fingers and found her G-spot again. Her arms shout out, searching for something to hold on to—anything—and she found the comforter, clutching it for dear life as he went straight for clit with his tongue, giving it repeated flicks back and forth as his fingers kept working her over inside. Her body was trembling, she was sweating, she couldn't make herself open her eyes—they were pressed together so tightly she saw stars against her eyelids. She laid her arm over her mouth, biting her own skin to keep quiet as she moved closer and closer to a second climax. It gripped her from out of nowhere, clawing up from her insides, and she was bucking, careening, her head thrashing back and forth as pleasure ripped through her and left her breathless. He touch began to lighten as his mouth left her, his fingers continuing to rub just enough to help her come down as he pressed a soft kiss to her inner thigh. She floated back to earth gently, feeling heavy and lethargic until her kissed her nipple and nearly made her jump off the bed.

"Too much?" he grinned, moving his hand to her hair and gently rubbing her scalp as his other finally stopped and rested against her sex.

"Yeah," she managed breathlessly. "Give me a minute." His chuckle was deep just before he kissed her, so deep she felt it in her chest and ribs. She tasted herself on his tongue as he moved in closer, allowing her to feel just how affected he'd been by going down on her so hard. She reached in between them and took him in her hand, giving him a squeeze, making him jerk against her touch. He was ready—more than ready. He felt almost as desperate as she had been.

"Come here," she breathed, guiding him in between her legs without a trace of an argument from him. He moved with her touch, positioning himself at her entrance, touching, brushing, her wetness making him groan.

"Okay for me to push in?" he murmured into her temple, his lips dancing over her pulse there, his nose tracing the side of her face. His skin was so hot, his forehead dotted with a sheen of sweat.

"Push away," she hummed, sighing in contentment as he moved in inch by inch with a low moan of relief. He pulled out and came back slowly until she'd taken him to the hilt, her body going slack long enough to adjust to his presence and mold itself around him. She loved this, him being a part of her in a way she shared with no one else, naked to him in every conceivable manner as they worked together to find their rhythm.

"You feel bigger than usual," she uttered, air puffing out her nose as he slid in and out yet again.

"Can you blame me?" he returned. "After eating you out like that? It's a wonder I didn't come with you in my mouth." His words were low and seductive, and they hit her where she needed it, a new tingling rising up from the depths as he continued to move. She drew in her walls, clenching in and out, increasing the sensations her body was enjoying up a few notches. "God, Mary," he whispered. "I love it when you do that."

"Hmmmm," she murmured, enjoying the feel of him inside her, flexing her inner muscles again until they both found the right spot and her body went into over drive.

"This angle?" he asked, moving a bit to the left to come in a bit differently. She nodded, licked her lips, scratched his scalp and drew her walls inward, her own gasp mingling with his.

"Yes," she breathed as a heated pulsing took over yet again. "Right there." He slid against her over and over, shivers blossoming and spreading out with each stroke. Then he moved, and she lost it, squirming as she tried to help him back into that spot.

"Hold on," he muttered, adjusting his weight. "My arms are getting tired." Her chuckle was silenced with a groan as he moved back exactly where she wanted him, burying his nose in the crook of her neck, smelling like sex and sweat and the aftermath of her own pleasure. "This position isn't the easiest," he admitted, his tone almost a growl.

"Do you need to move?" she asked, sighing as his mouth found on nipple and gave it a quick, hard suck.

"No," he returned, moving his lips up her neck. "I'm fine." Then they were rocking, working together, pushing each other forward in a frenzy of nips and clasps as her body continued to tease her. Her eyes rolled back, and she focused in on where they were joined, fluttering her inner muscles against him, pressing her hips up just so. "Come for me, Mary," he murmured, pushing in at a more frenzied pace. "One more time."

He was nearly there, was holding back for her, his body trembling under the effort and strain of it. She knew he was on the brink, could feel it, and she squeezed every muscle she had in an attempt to send them over at the same time.

"I'm close," she managed as he found that spot just behind her ear and began to suck, his fingers tugging hard at her nipple. "So close…" Her tone was rising in pitch as hot pleasure pushed its way up—rimming the surface just a second before unleashing itself everywhere with a bang. This one was deep, mind-blowing, the kind that went on and on, the kind that had her muffling her face into the pillow so she wouldn't wake up Sam and the girls with screams and hot curses as he kept drawing out her orgasm. Then she heard him grunt—once, twice, three times—and his hips began to jerk erratically as his forehead touched down on hers, spilling himself inside of her as her body welcomed the intrusion. She smiled as he rode her out, kissing his neck, clutching his head, whispering how she loved him until his body finally collapsed on top of hers. He caught his breath, touching her face before rolling them both gently to their sides, withdrawing himself as wetness coated her insides and left her feeling sticky. He stood on wobbly legs and raised a finger as if telling her to wait before coming back with a hand towel he inserted between her thighs after wiping himself off.

"That was incredible," she uttered, her body practically sinking into his chest as he snuggled in beside her.

"You think?" he teased, managing an exhausted laugh as he tried to catch his breath. His arms wrapped around her, and he held her so close she lost track of where she ended and where he began. This was so nice—just being with him like this, all tangled up and boneless, mutually sated and worn out from sex.

"And I thought you weren't coming over for sex," she teased, relaxing into his resulting chuckle.

"I wasn't," he insisted. "But who am I to complain about this turn of events?" His palm stroked her bottom, making its way up her side.

"Thank you," she whispered, titling her head so she could look into those bluer than blue eyes of his. "For this. And for coming tonight." One corner of his mouth slid up mischievously.

"In more ways than one," he stated, making her laugh.

"And more than once," she added, wiggling her brows at him, enjoying his self-satisfied smirk.

"I did manage to get you off three times," he smiled, and she rolled her eyes in exaggeration. "Next time, I'm aiming for four."

"Next time I want the kids at your mothers so I can yell if I want to," she observed, skimming his chest with her fingernails.

"I like it when you yell," he hummed, tipping her chin up to kiss her gently on the mouth.

"I like it when you grunt," she observed, her grin stretching out as his brow creased.

"I don't grunt," he objected, making her laugh then cover her mouth. "What?"

"You grunt when you come," she stated, pressing herself up to look him in the eye. "Like a pig. And you sigh when you finish." He eyeballed her as he leaned over the bed to retrieve his boxers, standing so he could slide them back on. He then tossed her nightshirt into her extended arms, grinning as she sat up enough to tug it over her head and pull it down her body.

"I'd much rather sleep naked," he mused as he stretched out beside her. "Even if you did call me a grunting pig. But…"

"We don't want to risk traumatizing one of the girls," she sighed as she stood and made her way towards the bathroom.

"Not something I want to have to explain to Belle at this point," he uttered, collapsing on to the mattress as she stepped into the bathroom, nodding in agreement. She washed her face and hands then brushed her teeth, rinsing her mouth and using the toilet before returning to the bedroom—only to find Matthew fast asleep, his body taking up a full two-thirds of the mattress.

"Typical," she sighed, unable to keep from smiling at her own admonishment, thankful that at least he wasn't snoring as he had done the last time he's stayed over. She adjusted her body into a comfortable position and turned so she could look at him, the sloping lines of his nose, the relaxed set of his jaw, the stubble just starting to poke through on his chin, and she wondered if he'd remembered to pack his electric razor to get ready for work tomorrow. She liked a bit of facial hair, actually, and she wondered if he could ever be persuaded to grow a trim beard or goatee. It would look good on him—she was certain of that. She was also certain that she was lying here already thinking of them as a married couple—the kind of married couple she wanted to be a part of rather than the kind she had been. What a difference a year made.

"I love you, Matthew Crawley," she whispered before gradually letting her body sink back into the mattress, tugging the comforter up to her ribs as she runched her knees into almost a fetal position and closed her eyes in contentment.


	20. Chapter 20

"I told you it was going to snow, Daddy."

Belle's smug and thoroughly satisfied grin beamed back at him from across the table, making him shift on his haunches as he took another sip of coffee.

"So did Granddad," Anna chimed in, unwilling to be left out of the conversation. Matthew shot Sam a look, one the older man acknowledged with a raised mug and a wink.

"So you did," Matthew sighed, gazing over his shoulder out the kitchen window, watching snow that continued to pour down with relentless insistence. "How much are they calling for now?"

"Six to eight inches," Mary replied from the stove, flipping another round of pancakes. The house smelled like home, like baking and syrup and people still in their pajamas, and it warmed him all over, made him wish even harder that he could put his own pj's back on and linger over a third cup of coffee "Are you sure you have to go in this morning?" She'd turned to face him, her hair delightfully askew, framing a face perfectly devoid of makeup that made her look even more adorable than she always did. He stared back at her, feeling his groin tighten ever so slightly as he remembered the previous night's activities, and his hand twitched with the need to peel red flannel off of her body and to make love to her right here on the spot.

"Matthew? Did you hear me?"

Both girls stared at him as Mary's brow shot up another half inch. Now was definitely not the time to be entertaining thoughts of wild sex on countertops accompanied by syrup and whipped cream. Not when two sets of wide eyes watched him with the ferocity of pint-sized chicken hawks waiting to pounce.

"Unfortunately, I do," he answered, hearing Belle's deflated sigh of disappointment. "I have an important meeting with a client at ten followed by a conference call my senior partner will kill me if I miss."

"It's not fair," Belle stated, plopping her napkin down on the table. "Daddies should get snow days, too."

"I agree," Mary hummed as she set a fresh plate of pancakes in front of them before sitting down. "Especially when the roads look as treacherous as ours does."

Their eyes met and held, her concern for him clearly warring with her need to remain calm for their children. God help him, he wanted to kiss her, right here-right now, wanted to pull her close, bury his mouth in her neck and spend the entire day here with her and their girls.

"I'm sure the main roads are fine," he assured her, attempting to weasel a smile out of her without much success.

"And just how do you know? Have you gone out and checked them?"

This is it, he thought to himself-us, this, here, now. This is my life. Her expression demanded an answer, but he was lost in thoughts of what came next, of how to keep his plans in order when nature seemed to be conspiring against him. First the stomach flu, now a winter storm. But dammit, he was going to ask her to marry him before the week was over, even if they got snowed in for a month.

"The main roads have been salted and scraped," Sam contributed as he shoveled a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. "At least according to channel eighteen."

"See?" he uttered, forking his own stack of pancakes. "I'll be fine," He watched as Mary's lower lip protruded just enough to make him want to nibble it instead of his food. "And I'll call you as soon as I get there."

"Can you leave after that conference call?" Mary asked. "Before things have a chance to get worse?"

"That's a possibility," he assured her. "Especially if conditions are deteriorating." He put down his fork and took her hand within his own, marveling at how cool it was after she'd spent so much time standing over a hot burner. "And thank you for letting Belle spend the day here with you."

"Of course she can stay," Mary returned. "Where else would she go? As if I'd send her out into that blizzard."

"It's hardly a blizzard," Matthew said, raising her hand to his lips, earning giggles from the girls.

"Blizzard-like conditions and frequent snow squalls," Sam read, adjusting his smartphone so he could see it properly. "At least according to…"

"Channel eighteen," Matthew cut in. "I know. Thank you, Sam." The older man tossed him a look while clearing his throat.

"Can't you reschedule your meeting?" Mary questioned. "How do you know your client will even show up?"

"Yeah," Anna chirped. "Why don't you just take a snow day like the rest of us?" He sighed under the combined glare of the three females in his life, each one as stubborn as the other, each holding a key to his heart.

"There's nothing I'd like better, Anna," he answered. "But I do have to work today." He stood and kissed the girl's dark head before doing the same to Belle. "I'll be back in time for supper."

"Make that lunch," Mary corrected. "And make sure to pick up some more clothes for you and Belle on your way home. If we're going to get snowed in, the two of you might as well do it here rather than across town." She scooted her chair back and stood, helping him zip his coat before placing a light kiss to his lips. "You be careful out there, Crawley," she murmured as one hand reached up to cup his cheek. It was then he spied it-a decided flicker of concern that ran far deeper than she was letting on-the fear of losing him just as she'd lost Charles, just as he had lost Lavinia. It hit him how he'd feel if it were she preparing to go out and face the elements, and his heart stretched inside his chest, prompting him to envelop her in down-encased arms as she slid a beanie over his head.

"I'll be careful," he whispered, watching as her lashes fluttered involuntarily. "And I'll be home as soon as I can. I promise." His lips touched her forehead, and she held him close, laughing into his chest just enough to rouse his curiosity. "What's so funny?" he asked, drawing back so he could see her. "Do I have syrup on my chin?"

"No," she grinned, touching his chin with her index finger. "Although I wouldn't mind if you did." Her brows flickered suggestively, warming him from the inside out. "It's just…" She paused, looking down at her slipper-clad feet before gazing back up at him. "You said home."

Her words brushed him with the delicacy of butterfly wings, soft yet etched with meaning and detail neither of them missed.

"I did," he confirmed. "You and the girls-you are my home now." His heart thudded as he watched her gaze move from his forehead to his mouth before honing in on his eyes. "Is that alright with you?"

One side of her mouth drew up in heartfelt smile disguised as a playful smirk.

"What do you think?"

God, he loved this woman. He hugged her again before feeling two sets of arms wrap around his waist, and he knelt to hug the girls before they dashed upstairs to Anna's room.

"I shudder to think about how that room will look at the end of the day," Mary uttered as he turned and groped for his car keys that were luckily in his pocket.

"Perhaps you should just lock the door and leave them to it," he grinned, laughing as she waved him off into the cold, snowy mess.

"I'd like the house to still be standing by the end of the day, thank you," she returned, smiling as he blew her one final kiss. "Be careful. I mean it."

"I will," he assured her as he closed the door behind him, being met by a blast of arctic air that nearly took his breath away. God, he hated January.

The roads were passable once he'd gotten out of the neighborhood, and he made it to work without any issues, texting Mary as soon as he walked in the front door to let her know he'd arrived. There was a skeleton crew manning the helm today, and he wondered if perhaps Mary had been right in wondering if his client would even bother getting out in the elements. Of course, he couldn't tell her that. He received a text from Sam less than five minutes later.

_They're now predicting 10-15 inches. I'm checking in with your mother to make sure she's alright. Don't stay at work any longer than you have to_.

Mother, Matthew thought, cursing himself for not thinking to call her before he left Mary's this morning. She lived alone-there was a massive winter storm beginning to make it's way through the area, yet he'd had his head so full of Mary that he'd utterly failed in his duty as a son. He pushed her number on speed-dial and was greeted by her voice mail after only one ring. Had Sam beaten him to it? Exactly what sort of relationship did Sam have with his mother? That thought was pushed from his head by the ringing of his desk phone, and he answered it directly as his secretary had not made it in today. She was six months pregnant with child number four, and Matthew had texted her first thing this morning, insisting that Gwen stay in and take care of both herself and her boys. She'd texted back her thanks within ten seconds.

Of course it was his client on the line-the very client he'd come in to meet with at ten. And of course, said client was calling to reschedule due to the weather. Nobody in their right mind would venture out today unless they had to, the man had observed, making Matthew wonder just what sort of person that made him. Was he in his right mind? If he asked Mary that question, there's no telling what she would say. Best not to ask if the answer was iffy. He shot Sam a text before making his way through paperwork, killing time until his conference call commenced, a call which ran far longer than it should have. By the time he finished and dared to look out the window, his stomach clenched at the sight awaiting him. It was a veritable winter wonderland out there-the sort that would make Bing Crosby swoon and Jack Frost giddy with glee.

But they didn't have to drive in it.

It was then he realized his car was only one of two left in the lot. Damn it. What a wasted morning. He checked his texts, reading the one from Sam first.

_Picked up your mother about an hour ago. We're all here at Mary's playing Uno._

He sent back a quick note of thanks before he opened Mary's thread, noting with alarm that there were four messages from her begging for his attention.

_Now predicting 12-18. Come home, Matthew. No call is that important._

_Please come home for lunch. I'm getting nervous._

_Are you alright? Can you text me back to let me know you're still okay? I'm worried here, and so is your mother. Come home now._

_Crawley-so help me, if you don't call or text me within the next thirty minutes, I'm going to get in my car and come out to search for you myself. I mean it, Matthew. I hate it when you act this stubborn_.

He noted the time of her last text, breathing a sigh of relief that it had been sent only twenty-two minutes ago. He hoped to God she wasn't out braving the roads as she'd threatened.

_I'm fine. Leaving for home now. Sorry for making you worry._

Then one more: _I love you, Mary._

Maybe that would save a few inches of his hide. He grabbed his coat, noting again the nearly empty parking lot, wondering how many people had actually made it into work today as he pulled the beanie Mary had made him wear over his ears. His phone buzzed just then, a reply from Mary, no doubt, and he looked down to read it, chuckling at the words she'd scrawled.

_Good. Be careful. I love you, too. But you're an idiot._

_An idiot who loves you_ , he replied before sliding the phone in his pocket and exiting to face the elements. An idiot who was ready to get home to his family. An idiot who was ready to make everything official, come hell or snowpocalypse. The drive back was far worse than his morning commute had been, but there was thankfully a temporary reprieve from the snow along with a lull in traffic, and he took full advantage of both. He drove by his house to retrieve more clothes and supplies for both himself and Belle, parking as best he could by the untouched curb, grinding his teeth as he heard snow bunch underneath his tires. A four-wheel drive, he thought to himself. One of the first things we should buy as a family is a good four wheel drive. Either that or a dog sled. But which kind, he wondered. Would a CRV be adequate? It would certainly easily transport him, Mary and both girls, but what if either his mother or Sam needed a ride? And what if-what if they had another baby? Would it be wiser to look at something like a Pilot or a Highlander, or God-forbid, even a mini-van?

Here he was already wondering about car seats when he hadn't even proposed to his girl.

The house seemed cold and empty, like the skeleton of a home rather than the realm of the living. The very person who gave it breath and life wasn't there at the moment. Belle's absence changed everything, made the silence that descended with snow all the more encasing, made him want to escape back to the chaos of Mary's with a ferocity that surprised him. Floorboards creaked under his step, and he wondered if his house had ever felt this large as he made his way down the hallway towards the bedrooms without bothering to turn on the hall light. He took care of Belle's belongings first, making certain to pack her fuzzy, footed pajamas, her favorite fleece outift and the penguin socks that she'd found in her stocking. He paused, picking up the stuffed Sylvester the Cat she'd been given as a baby, a constant companion that had been replaced last night by her new American girl doll that looked like her. He held the stuffed animal, remembering how Belle had cuddled it when Lavinia had rocked her to sleep, and he brought it to his nose, smelling the scents of a childhood progressing far faster than he'd like.

"Come on, then," he uttered as he stuffed Sylvester into Belle's duffle bag. He smiled as if he'd accomplished a small victory with that move-two points for Dad, one million points for the progression of time. Unfortunately, time waited for no one. Matthew stood and exited Belle's room, making his way into the bathroom, grabbing her forgotten hairbrush and strawberry-scented shampoo en route to gather his own belongings. How cold his bedroom felt after the warmth he'd experienced in Mary's arms last night. He stood in the door frame, examining the space as if by doing so he was examining his life-a life he'd cherished yet one that had wounded him, a life he'd picked up by the horns and was ready to live the hell out of again.

But it would be a life lived somewhere else with someone else.

He packed some clothes, feeling as though he were finally laying rest to pain that had paralyzed him with every sock or pair of boxer-briefs that went into his bag. He paused to on his side of the bed and open the bedside drawer, taking out the small, square box, one which held his hopes and dreams for the future in a way he'd never experienced. His hands trembled in time with his chin as past and present made peace with each other in a manner he hadn't realized had been missing. Funny how he already felt married to Mary in so many ways, how their girls already acted like sisters, how his mother and Sam fell so easily into the roles of grandparenting not only their own grandchildren but each others, as well.

He loved her-loved her like air, like water, like life itself, and he sat on the edge of his bed and popped open the box, staring down at a white gold band with an oval one carat diamond flanked by matching ruby studs. Our girls, he thought, two lives that brought our hearts together, the foundation of a larger family I want to build and watch grow.

"So here I go."

His words were instantly absorbed into silence. He looked up at the wall of his bedroom and stared straight into the face of his late wife. Lavinia was beaming in that photograph, bedecked in a simple white wedding gown, her red hair pinned in an updo, the pink roses of her bouquet a near perfect match for her cheeks and her lips. How young she looked-so beautiful, so radiant, so unaware at that moment that her life would be cut short in a manner so unfair it still made him angry. He'd loved her. He'd cherished her. But he was ready to entrust his heart and life to Mary.

"Wish me luck, Liv," he murmured. His chin quivered, and he swallowed hard, trying his best to contain emotions running over him with the speed and force of a freight train. He saw her then as she'd been in college, when they'd first held hands, when he'd kissed her one night, when he proposed and she'd giggled, telling him yes before throwing her arms around his neck with a slight squeal. Her scent swam in his memory as he thought of the first time they'd made love, of how nervous they'd both been, of how she'd blushed when he'd told her how beautiful she was, how she'd been embarrassed the first time he'd gone down on her.

"I wish you and Mary could have known each other," he mused aloud. "You'd like each other, I'm sure of it."

He was sure of it, just as he was certain he'd have liked Charles if the two men had ever had the chance to meet and interact. The thought struck him then-was it possible that Lavinia and Charles were now watching him and Mary come together, observing them together as they crafted a new life for each other and their children, a life that would celebrate the parents who gave them life but would allow them to embrace living ones that could raise them in the home they both deserved?

"What's gotten into you, Crawley?" he uttered to himself, staring at the ring one more time before closing the box and sliding it into his pants pocket. But he looked up at the ceiling nonetheless, blowing a kiss to Lavinia as he stood to his feet, looking around the bedroom one more time to make certain he was leaving nothing behind. He wasn't-nothing that mattered, anyway.

The car was already covering over again with snow, and he brushed it off the windshield with thick gloves before sliding back inside and revving up the motor. He was relieved that he'd thought to fill up the tank before the storm struck, and he shot off a text to Mary so she'd know where he was.

_Just leaving the house now. Be there soon._

He waited a few seconds before pulling out, knowing she'd text him back.

_Please be careful._

His heart squeezed again with love for this woman.

_I will. Look at what I've got to come home to. :)_

Progress was slow-going, but his car was doing fairly well on main roads. There wasn't much traffic out and about, which was both a blessing and a curse, but just moments after he exited on to the interstate, he realized his mistake.

Shit. It was too late to turn back now. And Mary was going to kill him.

* * *

 

 "He's stuck in that quagmire on I-75," Mary stated with a heavy sigh. "A tractor-trailer jack-knifed and closed both lanes of traffic." She gazed back at Isobel who was drinking coffee at an odd time of day for her, her lips pressed into a tight line. "With the conditions and temperatures as they are," Mary continued, doing her best to keep her voice steady so as to not upset the children. "Clean-up will take a while."

"At least he has a full tank of gas," Sam stated, moving to sit beside Isobel at the kitchen table. "That means he's warm-and safe." A look passed between the two older adults, one Mary didn't dare interrupt. Yet she clung to her phone as if keeping it close kept Matthew somehow within reach, as if by holding it, she was keeping him safe while sitting still in a line of cars backed up for miles.

"How about letting me cook dinner tonight?" Sam offered, standing with a forced smile. "I noticed you have you have ground beef, and I must say that I do make a mean chili."

Isobel tried to smile and gave him a nod, one Mary acknowledged and echoed.

"That would be wonderful, Sam. Just don't make it so spicy that the girls won't eat it." He chuckled as he moved to the refrigerator to collect ingredients.

"No worries," he assured her. "I'll just add the hot sauce once it's done." He stood up straight and added, "You do have Frank's, don't you?"

"In the cabinet to the right of the stove," she uttered, pointing in that general direction as she took a drink of now lukewarm coffee. Her entire body twitched, and she pressed herself up from the table and moved to stare out the window, watching as snow piled higher and higher while a piece of herself struggled to get home in this mess. Yes-Matthew was a part of her, an essential part of her now, and she bit her lower lip, willing the snow to stop, the rescue and clean-up teams to move faster, her heart to stop pounding so ridiculously hard that she felt as though she might just come out of her skin.

"I'm going to get on the treadmill," she finally announced, knowing she had to do something to work of this insane amount of nervous energy. "I'll keep my phone with me."

"Good idea," Isobel agreed, her tone tighter than it should be. "I think I'll go check on the girls."

The girls, Mary thought, the only ones not worried about Matthew, the only ones able to enjoy this snow day for the beautiful wonder it should be. She couldn't take that from them-she wouldn't-but her own skin felt two sizes too small for her, so she grabbed up her _Nikes_ and laced them on tight, trading her sweatshirt for a tank top as she found her favorite playlist and ran like she hadn't run in months. Sweat dripped from her body, and she wiped her brow, wondering if Matthew was staying warm, wondering if he were listening to music or trying to conserve fuel just as he was trying to save power on his phone. Not being able to stay in constant communication with him bothered her, conjured up images of Tony standing on her porch when she'd been expecting Charles, of condolences she couldn't process and whispers cast in her direction, of feeling so hollow she wondered if she were actually still human, of wondering if the baby Charles had given her could actually survive while growing inside such a cold and unfeeling creature.

Shit-this was crazy. Living in the past only tormented her, and she'd allowed herself to be tormented enough, hadn't she? Was it too much to ask for happiness, for a stress-free existence, for a man who wouldn't risk life and limb to meet some ungrateful client and take a conference call he could have damn well conducted here?

Once Matthew got home, she was going to kill him for making her worry like this. Then she'd fuck his brains out and then she'd kill him again.

Loving someone this much could be a real problem-a vortex of such proportions that once you've been sucked into it, it was impossible to break free. Shit. She increased her pace once more, turning up the volume, allowing the pulse of Bon Jovi to drive her forward-ever forward-ever faster until her brain was numb and her feet somewhat sore. She ran until she couldn't run anymore, finally stopping the machine and practically collapsing onto the bed, knowing her knees would probably rebel against her in the morning, feeling her lower back beginning to do so already. It was then she felt her phone buzz in her hand just as she kicked off one shoe and prepared to stretch.

_Traffic is finally moving. Thank God._

She nearly wept reading the words, biting her lower lip, wanting to say so much, knowing the words she needed wouldn't translate well into short texts, especially when being sent to a man now driving on treacherous roads with a limited amount of phone battery remaining.

_Be careful. Come home to us._

"Come home to me," she uttered to herself after hitting send, wiping her forehead just as sweat threatened to drip onto her comforter. "I can't do this without you. I can't."

_I will. Don't worry._

"That's easy for you to say," she muttered, throwing the phone down on the mattress as she pulled off her other shoe. "Idiot." She was pacing again by the time his car pulled up out front, had finished one and a half glasses of wine before the table had even been set. Belle's squeal that her daddy was home made the entire house spring to life, her announcement eliciting a bright smile from Isobel and a chuckle from Sam as he continued to tend the large pot on the stove.

And then suddenly, there he was. Whole. Alive. Standing snow-covered and pink-skinned in the doorway with tired eyes and a smile she pressed into marrow and bone.

She threw her arms around him just seconds after he walked in the door, mindless of who was watching, not caring if anyone else wanted to get to him first. He was home. He was safe. He was alive. He was also freezing, his coat and hair damp with snow, his nose a bright magenta, but she didn't care. She just kissed him-his face, his cheeks, every piece of skin that wasn't covered by material, every inch of him her lips could find, and she clasped his face between her hands, resting her forehead to his.

"I haven't forgiven you yet," she whispered, feeling his chuckle hot and alive against her lips. "For scaring me so badly."

"Perhaps I can make it up to you," he uttered, smiling back at her as she moved back to let the girls get their hugs and lifts off the floor. "Later." He wiggled his eyebrows in her direction before his nose turned towards the kitchen. "Is that chili I smell?" She watched as Isobel's expression relaxed fully for the first time since she'd arrived, noticed how easily Sam's arm had slid around the other woman's shoulders and how she'd leaned into him without a second thought. She watched as Anna hugged Matthew with the same ferocity as Belle, how he reacted to the kiss she planted on his cheek just the same as he did the one given to him by his daughter, and she felt the beginnings of tears threaten to overwhelm her.

God-not here. Not now. Not in front of everyone.

She dashed back towards her bedroom, shutting the door behind her, hearing muffled voices calling out her name as she leaned against the wall for support. She stood still for a moment, her muscles tightening, her head pounding, and she wondered if she was going to be sick. Then sobs hit, unrelenting and uncontrollable, the sort that make breathing difficult and rib cages sore, the sort that will not be silent until they are fully spent. Pent up fears poured out, mingling with frustration and anticipated grief, and she slid to the floor, standing only when strong arms wrapped around her and gently lifted her up.

"I'm sorry, Mary. So very sorry I scared you like I did."

She let him hold her, let him pull her into his chest and cradle her head with his palm, let him move her towards the bed and guide her gently towards the mattress until he was sitting on its edge and she was practically curled up into his lap. She held on to him, unwilling to let go, unwilling to consider what she'd feared just minutes before he'd arrived.

"I know I'm acting childish, but I can't lose you. I can't lose you, Matthew." The words left her in a broken, halting mess, but he nodded and kissed her forehead, burying his face into the crook of neck and hair and breathing her in as he would fresh air.

"I can't lose you, either," he uttered, his tone thick and jagged. "I don't know what I'd do if I did." He paused and fumbled around in his pocket, jostling her unceremoniously in way that both irritated and intrigued her.

"What are you…"

"Just wait," he interrupted, holding on to her tighter with his right arm while his left continued its search. "Please." His eyes were so intense, so damned blue and beautiful that she couldn't deny him. So she nodded, feeling more curious than anything as his face scrunched in concentration. When his hand finally emerged, it wasn't empty, but was rather holding a small box just the right size for a…..

"Matthew?"

Her breathing stopped-everything stopped, time, coherent thought, muted sounds coming from other parts of the house-everything but her heart which had instantly launched into overdrive.

"This isn't how I'd planned to do this," he began. "Not at all, actually. But I don't want to wait any longer to ask you." Tears were streaking down his cheeks now just as they were hers, so she reached to wipe them away, wondering if his skin had always felt this smooth or if her senses were muted in some areas and heightened in others. Her tongue was thick, her mouth gaping open as she stared between him and the box, not daring to move, not at all certain she wasn't dreaming.

"Ask me what?"

She knew what-there was no question-but the words were teasing her, dangling just beyond her grasp, and her body ached for them as they ached for him. He looked down at the box in his hand, chuckling softly as he snapped it open, revealing a ring blurred by tears as he cleared his throat.

"Marry me? Please?"

Oh, God.

For a minute, she couldn't breathe. She just stared at the diamond, at the small rubies on either side, at the man holding it looking back at her with as much love as she'd ever before witnessed. Then she tackle-hugged him so hard they both fell onto the mattress, rolling around in a laughing heap of tangled limbs and wet faces..

"Is that a yes?" he ventured, his smile teasing her madly as he lay pinned under her body.

"Yes," she managed, squealing loud enough to wake the dead as he flipped them over. "It's a yes."

She didn't register the sound of feet as he kissed her until she couldn't think, didn't hear the door fly open as his body rocked back and forth over her own making her want to just skip dinner and fuck him hard until neither of them could move.

"What are you doing, Daddy?" Belle cried, nearly giving Mary a heart-attack as she tried to pry her father off of her would-be-mother. Mary gasped as his weight flew off of her, feeling completely exposed in her own bedroom.

"I think that's the kiss," Anna uttered, gazing wide-eyed at the startled grown-ups. "The one that can make babies."

Belle's inhale was nearly as loud as Mary's squeal had been.

"Are you making a baby?"

"No," Matthew stated, pushing himself up into a sitting position as Mary did the same. "No, Belle, we're not." She didn't know whether to laugh or crawl under the bed in mortification. His hair was an ungodly mess, his face three shades of red, and she was certain she didn't look any better.

"I'm glad to hear it," Isobel cut in, alerting them to both her and Sam's presence. "Plenty of time for that after supper I think."

Crawling under the bed was sounding like a better option by the second.

"What were you screaming about, Mommy?" Anna asked, plopping down on the bed just beside her mother. "Were you and Mr. Matthew playing a game?"

Sam's chuckle was the nail in her coffin, and she brushed the hair from her face, trying desperately to keep it pinned behind her ear.

"No, sweetheart," she managed. "We were just…" She stopped them, catching Matthew's gaze, feeling every ounce of mortification fall away from her at the dopey, love-struck smile he was sending her way.

"I was just proposing to your mother."

The silence stretched for longer than she'd anticipated, and she held her breath, waiting for the response she was certain was coming.

"What?"

Belle's exclamation rocked the room as Anna jumped back to her feet. The girls faced their parents side-by-side, their eyes so wide they reminded Mary of a a pair of Pusses-in-Boots.

"You mean, we're getting married?"

Mary smiled so brightly her face was hot.

"Yes, Anna," she answered, turning to face their daughters. "We're getting married." If she'd only anticipated just how loudly two little girls could squeal.

"Wait!" Anna cried out. "Where's the ring? Didn't he put a ring on your finger, Mommy?" She and Matthew froze in place before they both began frantically searching the mattress for the box that had been accidentally batted aside in her rather robust acceptance.

"Would that be it?" Sam asked, pointing toward the far left corner of the room. Belle dashed in that direction and scooped up the prize, carrying it back to her father with a reverence far beyond her years.

"Well that could have been a disaster," Matthew muttered, making her practically giggle as he reopened the box and slid the ring from its cradle of velvet. The diamond sparkled in the overhead light, the rubies winking magically as he leaned over and took her left hand, taking her ring finger into his hand to make their engagement official.

"Wait!" Belle interrupted. "You can't do it like that, Daddy. You're supposed to get down on one knee!" Her emphatic nod made Mary laugh out loud as Matthew shot her a look and took his position.

"And you're supposed to stand up, Mommy," Anna insisted, taking her mother's hand as she helped her up from the bed. "Don't you guys know how to do anything right?"

"Apparently not," Matthew breathed, making her laugh so hard her ribs were starting to hurt. She blinked her eyes, trying to catch her breath, and she took in the scene within seconds. Sam and Isobel standing in the door frame, Anna and Belle nearly beside themselves with excitement, and Matthew-her lover, her friend, her fiance, down on one knee in front of her, holding a ring she couldn't take her eyes off of if she tried. This was her family-her life-her everything, right here in one room with her as a new chapter of forever began.

Matthew cleared his throat, his hands warmer than usual in spite of the fact that he'd been out in the snow, and time stopped for a split second as everything ceased to exist but what was here in her bedroom.

"Mary Josephine Gillingham," he began, doing his best to keep a straight face as she smiled down at him like an idiot. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?" She smiled everywhere at once, blinking back tears as she frantically sought her voice.

"Yes."

The ring fit her. Perfectly. It wrapped around her finger like a promise from someone she'd never expected, someone who needed her just as badly as she needed him. This was it. They were engaged.

"I can't believe it!" Belle yelped, twirling herself around until she collapsed dizzily on to the bed. "Finally!"

She burst out laughing as Matthew bent to tickle her, the pandemonium only going up another notch as Anna tackled him to join in on the fun.

"Congratulations," Sam beamed, stepping past the melee to give Mary a hug. "I couldn't be happier for you, Mary. For you and for Anna." He paused then, swallowing hard before adding, "Charles would be so pleased."

"Thank you," she breathed, clasping on to him as she would her own father, absorbing this piece of her first true love into the celebration of her second. "For everything." She hugged him once again, feeling Charles's approval in the surrounding her in arms of his father. Isobel found her next, her smile leaving Mary in no doubt about her feelings.

"I'm so glad he found you, Mary," the older woman uttered. "You're the piece that was missing from his life ever since he lost Lavinia."

Shit. She was going to cry all over again. There was no use in trying to squelch it, Mary knew, so she didn't bother trying. She just let the tears fall where they may. Just then Belle sat straight up on the mattress, her mouth hanging open as her eyes widened into saucers.

"And Anna and I know just where we need to have the wedding!" she cried, looking at her co-conspirator who was biting her lower lip and nodding furiously.

"Oh, really?" Matthew questioned, pushing himself back into a sitting position, his hair in even more disarray than it had been before. "So the two of you have been scheming already?"

"Not scheming," Anna protested. "Just planning."

"Should we be afraid?" Mary asked as she stared down at her ring.

"Terrified," Matthew answered with a grin. "And just what location have you concocted for the wedding?" he continued, looking back at their would-be wedding planners.

"Disney World!" the girls shrieked in tandem.

"Why am I not surprised?" Matthew asked, his arms flung out on both sides of his body. Sam cackled, Isobel snickered, and Mary just watched it all play out in breathless wonder, unable to feel anything at the moment other than absolute bliss.

"It would be perfect, Daddy," Belle continued breathlessly. "Just think about it. Cinderella's Castle, the Fairy Godmother..." Matthew chuckled, picking up his daughter and setting her on one of his knees.

"That's a lovely idea, Belle," he began. "Truly. But the bride gets to decide where she wants to get married. After all, it is her day." Five sets of eyes shot towards Mary all at once, making her feel like she was facing a makeshift firing squad. She sat down under the scrutiny, cuddling Anna into her side as the girl moved towards her mother, making her feel flushed all over.

"I think getting married at Disney World sounds perfect, actually." Anna shot to her feet and clapped her hands repeatedly.

"Really, Mommy?" she asked, her feet dancing a jig beneath her. "Do you mean it?"

"Why not?" Mary returned, watching both girls nearly explode from excitement. "I mean, how can you top Cinderella's castle?"

"You can't," Matthew grinned, locking on to her eyes and smiling back at her. He paused then, tilting his head, looking so much as he did the night they worked the ring toss booth together, the night he'd first asked her out, the night that changed everything. "Are you sure, Mary? Are you really sure about this?" She glanced at this group of people surrounding her-her family, their family, a family forged from the ashes of loss and devastation, a family now bathed in a happiness none of them took for granted. She smiled, so full of joy she thought she might burst from it, and she laughed because she couldn't help herself.

"I've never been as sure about anything in my life," she uttered, fixing her eyes on the blue ones gazing back at her. They ended up in a heap then, right there on her bed, the two of them and their children, a mess of arms, legs and faces stuck together, the four of them making an odd sort-of igloo as life in all its fractured brilliance was celebrated in full. So Disney World it was.

And what a wedding it would be.


	21. Chapter 21

"Wishes, Escape, Memories, Gazebos or Chapels, Mickey or Donald? God, you'd think we were planning a royal wedding but with a fraction of the budget."

Matthew ran his fingers over his scalp, gazing over Mary's shoulder at the laptop screen. At least six tabs were open, each showing a Disney World wedding plan option, each option more expensive than the next.

"The girls think we are royalty," she said, clicking on yet another link, making his eyes blink repeatedly.

"The girls want to live in Cinderella's castle," he sighed as he plopped down on the sofa beside her. "And I thought having one daughter was expensive. God help me now that I'll be raising two." Her half-smile finagled a grin out of him, regardless of the dollar signs pounding relentlessly against his temples.

" _We'll_ be raising two," she corrected, tossing him a pointed look from under her lashes. "And you do realize that if if we have a third child, the odds are ever in our favor that we'll have another girl?" His head fell back on to the pillows, and he rubbed his forehead until it was pink.

"I'll have to resort to thievery," he mused. "There will be no other option. I'll be overrun with females, especially if we ever have twins."

"Every man should be so lucky," Mary quipped, turning to look at Matthew directly. "But if you ever mention the possibility of us having twins again, you'll be sleeping on the couch for at least a month."

He laughed, he couldn't help it as his fingers found their way into her hair, all mussed, touchable and utterly perfect.

"You'd be adorable, you know," he mused, leaning into her neck, nuzzling his nose into her skin, breathing in the mingled scents of dinner, chocolate and fabric softener. "All round and pregnant with two babies."

Her elbow connected with his ribs, eliciting a groan out of him that made her nostrils flare.

"I'd be hell on wheels, Crawley," she corrected as she eyed him directly. "If you think I'm cranky when it's that time of the month, you wouldn't last two seconds around me if I were carrying twins."

"Truce!" he cried out before she could elbow him again, unable to stop smiling at the self-assured pout she threw in his direction. He held up his hands in mock-surrender, watching as her body began to relax back into the cushions before daring a soft peck to her cheek. "I'll never mention the possibility of us having twins again-I promise." She sighed audibly before dropping her head onto his shoulder, nuzzling into him as if she were ready for a nap. "Triplets, on the other hand..."

She opened her mouth to protest, but was instantly silenced by the insistent pressure of his lips upon hers. Her hands pressed against his chest in a pathetic attempt to push him away, but he deepened the kiss, angling his torso to nudge her further into the cushions, humming into her mouth as she finally gave in and insisted on more. Their tongues met, her need as heady as his own, and he felt flush all over, wondering if they could just put Belle and Anna to bed early and enjoy a little time to themselves. He adored the feel of her in his arms, the ease and completion that had sauntered into his life in the form of her and her daughter, the lingering taste of cocoa on her lips that made him think of home and sex.

"Been into the hot chocolate again?" he questioned as he drew back somewhat breathlessly, staring down at lips more swollen and pink than they'd been just seconds ago.

"It's freezing outside," she returned, sliding deeper into her oversized sweatshirt, casting him a smirk he knew all too well. She wore no bra underneath the heavy fabric, and he had to fight down the urge to slide his hand under the material to cup her breasts. Images of her nipples hardening at his touch ran through his head, making his mouth dry and pants tight just before raised voices coming from upstairs derailed his train of thought. "And the girls have been driving me crazy."

"I think they're a bit stir crazy themselves," he reasoned, clearing his throat. "Four snow days in a row…"

"Is too damn many." He wound a stray strand of dark hair around his finger, feeling the primal urge to mess up her hair in ways unsuitable for their children's eyes.

"They'll be back in school next week," he reasoned. "The main roads are clear now."

"But there's more snow in the forecast!" Her eyes narrowed in a glare she cast up the steps, honing in on unseen Kindergarteners squealing at the top of their lungs. "Spring can't get here soon enough."

"For more reasons than one." Brown eyes warmed in his direction as the reality of their upcoming wedding date sank in a little more. "I can't wait to marry you, you know."

"I know," she quipped, an out and out smile breaking out across her face as his nose nudged hers. "I just hope you don't change your mind before May gets here." An irate scream he recognized as Belle's drew his attention.

"Or you change yours," he muttered, leaning into the feel of her fingers on his cheek. "Christ, how is it your fingers stay so cold?"

"I stick them in the freezer just before you get home," she replied. "I know how you adore it when I'm frigid." She leaned forward and nipped his ear with her teeth and tongue, making him groan at the contrast of icy skin and heated mouth.

"All the better to ride your sleigh," he muttered into her neck, feeling rather proud of her resulting shiver. He nipped her just under her ear, allowing his tongue to soothe where his teeth had just teased her, loving the salty sweetness of her skin.

"Better control that popsicle of yours," she said, her tone low and throaty, the sound of it doing things to him he'd prefer to explore in her bedroom. She cast a glance up the steps again, tilting her head to grant him better access. "The natives are too restless for us to engage in winter sports at the moment."

"No grand slaloms, then?" he sighed, edging his fingers under the band of her sweatshirt and up her bare back while his other hand eased down her upper thigh. "Not even a quick run down the bunny slope?"

"The slopes are temporarily closed," she insisted, squeezing her legs together beneath the laptop, effectively trapping his his fingers right where he wanted them. He nudged them upwards, delighted that she had chosen to don leggings rather than thick, baggy sweatpants. He groaned at the warmth he found hiding under lycra, warmth he'd like to notch up to wet heat with his fingers and mouth.

"Don't make me snow your balls, Matthew." He chuckled into her shoulder, his fingers finding the juncture between her legs and pressing in as close as he could. His erection began to grow uncomfortably, urging his mouth to the side of her neck, his tongue reveling in the beads of sweat now dotting across her skin.

"It's decidedly warmer down here," he hummed, drawing circles through the fabric that prompted her hips instinctively press towards him. "Balmy, even."

"Which is why it's time to put away your pole," she managed, grabbing his wrist as a door opened and closed again on the second floor. She sighed, her eyes practically daring him to touch her again while the girls were still awake. "It's not the right season."

"Seasons are flexible," he stated, kissing her before she could protest again. Her pupils were slightly dilated as she pressed herself back from his mouth, her lips plump and even more kissable than they'd been just seconds ago.

"Certain conditions have to exist," she began, cut off by an insistent _Stop it, Belle_! that made her fists clench. "Or your run could be rudely interrupted.." Her words faded into a low groan as he found and squeezed her nipple, trying to make her throw away all parental reason. She was right-he knew she was right, but she was also here, looking sexier than should be legal in oversized sweats, making him act like a sex-starved frat boy rather than a responsible father and attorney.

"I think I could manage to still slide down your mountain," he teased, his teeth nipping her earlobe, her resistance fading as he rolled her nipple between his index finger and thumb. "Regardless of the conditions." He felt her body shudder beneath his whisper, smelled the musk of heightening arousal on her skin.

"Oh, God," she whispered, her back arching as one of his hands continued to toy with her peak while his other teased her nether regions, trying to helping her find it. She pressed her hips into his touch, urging him on with small circles and rubs until there was a yelp followed by a thud from upstairs, an ear-splitting wail and a cry for _Mommy._

"Matthew," she sighed, her expression morphing from lustful to frustrated in under a second. "We can't...not now." She moved to push herself off the couch, her every muscle tense with acute aggravation and heightened sexual frustration. It was then he noticed the lines of fatigue around her eyes, along with the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth that betrayed the fact that she was fighting back tears.

God, he felt like a heel.

"I'll go," he cut in, stilling her move to hand him the laptop. "You've dealt with those monkeys enough for one day and obviously need a break. Besides,I don't think they even know I'm home." He watched relief wash over her and realized he should have been massaging her shoulders or feet instead of coming on to her like a sex-starved maniac in a suit.

"I'm so tired," she admitted, and he leaned down, touching his forehead to hers, feeling a part of her melt into him. "I feel like I've been living out _The Jungle Book_ while stranded in Antarctica."

"I can only imagine," he said, shaking his head at the noises still assailing them from Anna's bedroom. She muttered a word he couldn't quite hear, tossing a glance out the window at the snow still piled knee-deep across the yard.

"Beware of Thing One and Thing Two when you go up there. They're untamed and volatile." Her gratitude was palpable as he stood and looked towards the steps, holding onto her cold fingers as long as he could before trudging towards his impending doom..

"Send help if I'm not back in thirty minutes," he called back, taking the stairs two at a time as she tossed him a throaty chuckle. "And you're mixing your literature, you know"

"Tell that to and Rudyard Seuss," she returned just as he reached the landing. He threw her a smirk she caught and returned just as another scream reached out and grabbed him through the closed bedroom door. He sighed before knocking, wondering just what sort of catastrophe awaited him on the other side.

"Why didn't you remind me to wear my body armor?" he yelled down as he put his hand on the doorknob.

"Don't worry," Mary called out as small feet pounded and something crashed to the floor. "I have 911 on speed dial."

He emerged about ten minutes later, staggering down the steps and plopping down beside her on the couch once again. He was decidedly worse for the wear, his tie hanging limp, his sleeves rolled up, and sweat dotting his forehead and cheeks.

"I think The Escape Package suits us," Mary stated calmly as she gave him a once-over. "What happened to you?"

"I'm not entirely certain," he admitted. "But I think I have glitter in my hair," She inspected his scalp, biting her lower lip in amusement as silver and pink flittered to the ground.

"You'd better shower before you come to bed tonight," she instructed. "God knows I don't want to be picking glitter out of the sheets months from now."

"Perhaps I'll invest in body glitter," he teased, watching her eyes roll at his suggestion. "Rub it on you in places only I'll know about." She swatted his hand playfully, her focus still on the laptop and not on sex. "Why the Escape Package? It's more expensive than the Memories option." He watched the lines around her eyes twitch as she inhaled audibly.

"The number of people it accommodates. It would allow both of our mothers and Sam to be there with us as well as the girls," she reasoned with a small shrug. Her shoulders drooped slightly then as some of her emotional starch leaked out. "And Edith, if she can manage to clear her schedule for something as trivial as her sister's second marriage."

The subject of her sister was a sensitive one, one Matthew had learned to approach with utmost care.

"I'm sure she'll do her best to be there," he said, sliding his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, somehow feeling heavier than before. "She is your sister, after all."

"A sister I've barely spoken to for nearly two years." Mary wouldn't look at him, her refusal to do so silently communicating the depth of loneliness she'd experienced over the past six years. A mother overseas, a sister she loved but didn't actually like, a deceased father and husband, a dead lover and father of her child-her life had been extremely solitary with the exception of Anna's presence in it.

"A sister, nonetheless," he murmured, dotting a kiss onto her cheek. "All you can do is send the invitation. Then it's up to her to make the next move." Her gaze sauntered over his arms up to his face, and he placed his hands on her shoulders, taking up that massage he'd thought about earlier. She sighed, humming her approval, and he watched her relax into his fingers as a slow melt of tension began.

"She'll find a way to make her absence my doing," Mary said, her brow knotted in consternation even though her eyes were now closed. "Everything that's gone wrong in her life is my fault, you know."

"Balance," he muttered. He smiled when she popped one eye open and gazed at him quizzically. "Everything that's gone right in my life recently is your doing, too." He felt her go boneless against him, and he drew her as close to him as he could, stopping the massage so he could wrap his arms around her middle. How he wished he could bind up every wound ever inflicted upon her so it would never smart again, knowing the impossibility of such an action from the lasting scars of his own personal pain.

"How is it that I'm closer to your mother than I am to Edith?" Mary questioned, her words nearly vanishing into thin air. "Why is it that it's far more important to me that Isobel and Sam be at our wedding than my own sister?"

"Because my mother would take on The Evil Queen herself if she thought she wouldn't be allowed at the wedding, and we both know it," Matthew noted, watching the corners of Mary's mouth draw up in a semi-smile. "God, she might actually find a way to close down Disney for the day until they let her in. She already loves you like a daughter and considers Anna as much her granddaughter as Belle. There's no way in hell she'd miss this." He paused then, watching her closely as he formed his next sentence. "And your closeness to her and Sam makes perfect sense to me. They're here for you and our girls-both of our girls-they've prioritized them in their lives as much as you and I have in ours. It's hard to get around that, whether there's a biological attachment or not. And as for Edith, you can't pick your family-we've talked about this before." She sighed, tossing her hands up into the air.

"But that's just it, Matthew. I have picked my family-I've chosen you, Belle, Isobel and Sam. I love my mother, you know I do, but I can speak more openly with Isobel than I ever could with her." She paused and sniffed, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. "Regardless, I know she's coming, she can't wait to meet you and Belle, and I'm thrilled that Anna is going to finally get some quality time with her biological grandmother. She needs that-they both need that."

Old wounds had risen to the surface, so he held her gently as his lips made contact with her temple, trying to dissuade some of the discordant trappings of her past with the promise of their future.

"I agree," he breathed. "And I'm anxious to meet Cora. I've thoroughly enjoyed Skyping with her, and I know Belle has, too."

"She's bringing gifts for both girls," Mary said, looking up at him directly. "She's picked out proper tea sets she thinks they'll adore."

"Which they will," he assured her with a squeeze to her shoulder. "Although the two of us may get sick of tea if they both have a set of their own." Her smile was weary, weighted down with the realities of being snowbound, in charge of planning a wedding, and all of the trappings that go along with blending two families. "Is something else bothering you?" He felt her sigh rather than heard it as her ribs constricted under his arms.

"I'm not inviting Tony's family. I can't put myself through that."

Her words were barely a whisper, nearly lost into his chest as she turned and pressed her face into it, clutching his shirt tightly.

"I never thought we would," he stated, the shock of her words still tingling up his arm. "You don't think they'll be upset with you for that, do you?"

"After the exchange I had with Carol a few days ago, I'm not sure," she admitted. "I don't want her to think I'm trying to nudge her out of Anna's life, but she's not exactly been a viable presence in it in the first place." He wanted to call Carol himself as she sniffed and rubbed the bottom of her nose with the top of her hand. He'd tell her to back off, to let Mary finally have a life of her own choosing, to stop using her dead son to manipulate the daughter-in-law who'd loved another man. He couldn't help but wonder if Carol knew this-if she'd known the depth of Mary's love for Charles and the insurmountable obstacles her brief marriage to Tony had faced. Was she trying to punish Mary in an odd sort of way, hoping she wouldn't find happiness with someone else since she hadn't found it with her son? The very thought made his blood boil.

"You don't owe her an invitation, Mary. You don't owe her anything." He felt her stiffen against him, knowing he'd hit a nerve. He inhaled before reaching out to cup her face, watching her brows flicker in a state of doubt. "You're allowed to move forward and live your own life. You're allowed to fall in love, get married, have another baby, go to Disney World-you don't have to answer to Carol or Edith, to Tony's memory, to anyone. It's your life-your heart on the line here. For once in your life, do something you want to do just because you want to do it."

She cleared her throat, the sound alerting him to the fact that she was on the verge of tears. But she breathed in steadily before clearing her throat, tossing him a look he'd couldn't read.

"Then move in with us."

The words took him by surprise, and he sat up taller, turning so that he could see all of her features rather than just her profile.

"What did you say?" His heart was pounding two steps ahead of himself, his chin quivering as if he'd been lost in a blizzard.

"I said to move in with us," she continued, leaning in closer, only increasing the volume of the blood already drumming in his head. "If I'm truly allowed to live the way I want to live, then I don't want to wait until May for you and Belle to stay with me and Anna on a permanent basis. I want it now. Having you both here this week…" she paused, swallowing down the thickness in her throat. "It's been crazy, crowded, chaotic, and absolutely perfect. I don't want to lose that when the snow melts, Matthew. I don't want to put off our lives one more second than necessary."

He'd terrified her just days ago, made her fear she'd lost him in the snow storm, made her cry over what could have happened but thankfully did not. He saw that now in her eyes, that fear now honed into a resolution that made him feel six inches taller.

"I want my family, the family I've chosen, here with me," she continued, almost breathlessly. "I want us living together, waking up together every morning, putting out fights together and arguing over who has to wash the dishes. I want to enjoy every second of our lives, even when that life is about to drive me insane." Her hands were fidgety, and he took her fingers within his own, bringing them to his lips, watching her blink repeatedly at the onset of overwhelming emotion on a fatigued body and mind. He couldn't speak for a moment, couldn't barely breathe, come to think of it, and he racked his brain for a moment, searching for a logical reason why he would have to tell her no. He couldn't think of one. Thank God.

"Are you sure about this? About Belle and me moving in?" She was nodding before the question was out of his mouth, and she drew him down to her to kiss him, her lips greedy and tasting of salt. Her fingers made their way into his hair, dislodging more glitter in the process, making him even more in love with her if such a thing were possible. She chuckled as she drew back from him, laughing through threatened tears at the sparkles now covering her hands and his forehead.

"I'm sure," she stated without a tinge of doubt. "I want you here. I want Belle here. And I don't want to wait until fucking May." He chuckled, his chest expanding until he thought it might explode.

"I don't want to wait until May to fuck, either," he quipped, laughing with her as she fell into his arms. "I'd honestly like to give it a go tonight, if you're game." She snorted, and he nearly doubled-over at the sound of her laughter.

"I'm game, but I'm tired," she managed after finally catching her breath. "You may have to do all the work tonight."

He kissed her lightly, nudging her nose with his own as he pressed her back into the cushions. His mouth took up a trail down her neck, nipping and tasting, reveling in her muted moan as he whispered, "My pleasure."

"I meant that you'd have to see to mine," she said, his resulting laugh blowing out his nose and into her face. He felt her chuckling beneath him as his eyes began to tear, alerting him to the fact that they were both likely slap-happy from stress, snow and not enough sleep. "Oh, God," she said between gulps of air. "If this is any indication of what sex is going to be like tonight, maybe we should stop while we're ahead." He couldn't talk for laughing, and he doubled over as his stomach started to cramp.

"Perhaps," he finally managed. "But if it's any indication of what the rest of our lives are going to be like, I think we're in good shape." Her hands cupped his face, her thumbs rubbing his cheek bones as she bit her lower lip.

"Does that mean you'll move in with Anna and me?" Her question cut through the fog in his mind, and he caressed her face again, trying to gain control of his laughter even as more glitter fell from his hair.

"It means that I feel as though I've swallowed a box of fireworks just thinking about it," he grinned, feeling the wetness of a tear travel down her cheek and over his thumb. "I've never been so sure of anything in my life as I am of this family we're making, Mary. Let's do this."

Her arms were around him before he registered that she'd moved, and he pulled her into his chest, holding her like there would be no tomorrow, fully conscious that both of them had lived that unsettling reality first-hand. He understood the need to clasp on to what they had and to wring every second of happiness from it as possible. It was a risky business, loving someone the way he loved her, putting his heart out there again, asking her to do the same, knowing that either or both of them could be decimated again at any moment.

But it was worth it. She was worth it. Their girls were worth it.

"I'll see about putting my house on the market," he said, smiling as her eyes rounded to the size of quarters. "Your's is far better suited for us, and you're closer to the school. Don't you think?" She was nodding as her fingers clutched his shirt, her lips trembling in time with her fingers as she opened them and pressed her forehead into his.

"Belle won't mind sharing a room?" she asked, smiling as he shook his head no.

"Neither will I," he hummed, brushing his lips softly over hers. "In fact, I'm not sure just how well I'd sleep alone in my own bed again after these nights here with you. You're highly addictive, you know."

God, there was that grin again, that grin he'd pay a king's ransom to see on a regular basis.

"Like caffeine?" she quipped, laughing softly with him as his thumb continued to stroke her cheek.

"Like the darkest and richest of chocolates," he amended. "I can't get the taste of you out of my mouth." She continued to clutch his shirt, her eyes darkening a shade that made his blood hot all over again.

"I love you, Matthew." Her tone was transparent, and he felt it everywhere at once, filling what had once been empty, completing him in a way he'd forgotten. Her words were quicksilver in his system, his heart beating to a rhythm she'd composed just for him, and he shook his head at this life they'd managed to already create for themselves, a masterpiece of colored ashes and ocher created from the depths of grief. The way she touched his face was more intimate than any sexual act they'd yet shared, and he knew she was offering him her very soul, the part of her she'd tried to lock away when it had been smashed by Charles's death and repeatedly trampled by those who wouldn't allow her to grieve him properly. He absorbed her into every pore and crevice of his body until he felt completely and utterly filled with her, with Mary, this extraordinary and complex woman who fed his soul and fueled his blood.

"I love you, Mary Gillingham. So very, very much." They sat like that as seconds ticked by, as the winds moaned outside their private haven, as the girls continued to squeal and play upstairs. "So we're opting for the Escape Package?"

She shot him a glance as she buried now warm fingers into his hair, rubbing her lips over his just enough to whet his appetite again.

"Can we escape now?" she asked as another squeal hurdled towards them from upstairs. "I'm having a _Calgon take me away_ moment."

"I'm having a _Calgon take us to Hawaii_ moment," he said, grinning at the half-hearted eye roll she tossed him. "But there's no way we'll be able to afford Hawaii on top of a Disney wedding."

"Maybe when the girls graduate from high school," she uttered, making him grimace at the mere thought of Belle and Anna being that old.

"Maybe by then we'll be able to afford an outing at McDonald's," he mused, pretending to wince as she elbowed him again. "But only if we start saving now."

She grinned and sat up straighter, readjusting the computer on her lap as she refreshed the page. He felt her sigh of relief as the Escape option was clicked, watched together as a new screen appeared before them.

"Calgon, give me a bigger bank account," he whispered as they began to examine their new options.

"Too much Calgon makes your skin all pruny," Mary said, earning herself a quick kiss on the cheek. She'd moved back into business mode, he noticed, her need to plan and organize taking over once again. "I think I prefer the gazebo to the chapel when it comes to the ceremony. What about you?"

"Can't we just get married on Space Mountain?" She nudged his shoulder as he breathed into her hair.

"There's always the Canadian Pavilion at Epcot," she continued, her eyes fixed on the screen. "But as neither of us are Canadian…"

"I don't care where we have the ceremony," he interjected, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. "As long as you say I do." Her nose scrunched up in that manner he adored, the manner that made her look just like her five year old daughter.

"Massage my feet and I'll think about it," she hummed, leaning into his chest. She felt like home, like carry-out pizza and nights in, like ballet recitals and a mini-van, and he for one was sold. He watched as she wiggled her toes before tossing him a pointed look.

"They're hard to reach them from this angle," he muttered, and she laughed, trying to direct his attention back to the screen in front of them.

"Later, then," she said, touching the screen with an unpolished nail. "The gazebo?" He sighed, rubbing his scalp yet again before nodding.

"The gazebo it is." She clicked that link with flourish, selecting pink calla lilies for both her bouquet and his boutineer before he even realized what had just happened.

"This cake or that one?" He was thankful she'd narrowed it down to two already. The page of confections had at least a dozen choices with enough decorative options on hand to give the Cake Boss a migraine.

"The first," he answered after studying them both. "The girls will love the castle cake topper."

"Agreed," she said. "If it's princess themed or pink, they're all in."

He rested his chin on her shoulder as they selected a cello for their instrument and photo package that would allow for pictures by Cinderella's castle. Why were weddings so damned complicated and expensive, he wondered. Part of the beauty of getting married at Disney should be the ridiculous simplicity of it. Couldn't they just stand on the steps of Cinderella's castle in their shorts and mouse ears and recite their vows?

"Mickey or Donald?"

Her question brought him out of his reverie, and he focused yet again on the laptop screen.

"What?"

She sighed, shaking her head in his direction.

"Do you want Mickey or Donald there for the ceremony and reception?" He gazed down at the laptop, rubbing his left temple before giving her an answer.

"Goofy." A warm chuckle slid up her throat as she made a small production of clicking on Goofy's picture.

"Excellent choice. And not the least bit surprising."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, wriggling a finger into her ribs until she swore. She squealed and smacked his hand playfully, nearly tossing the laptop onto the floor in the process.

"It means that Goofy suits you," she cried, laughing loudly as his fingers moved into her armpit. "Stop it, Matthew! I'll drop the computer!"

Her chest was heaving, her skin flushed an irresistible shade of pink that just begged for his touch. Need hit him hard once again, and he had to fight back the instinct to strip that blasted sweatshirt off of her and take her right here on the couch. He wanted a fast, hot and breathless fuck that would make her yell his name and sweat until they slid across each other as if they'd been rubbed down with oil. He was hard just thinking about it, and he inhaled sharply, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his mind. 

"God, you're wound up tonight," she stated, her eyes drifting to where a part of his anatomy was poking her in the side. "What did you have for lunch?"

"It's what I didn't have for lunch that I'm craving," he murmured, blocked from reaching for her again by the laptop in her grasp.

"Down, boy" she insisted, her expression brokering no room to argue. "We're going to plan this wedding and book a date before you're allowed to bring that poker of yours anywhere near me. Got that, Crawley?" He sighed as he nodded, noting how suspicious her gaze was has she settled back into his torso.

"Truce?" he breathed, daring to graze her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. She eyed him warily, continuing to clasp the laptop to her chest for all she was worth.

"The last time you asked for a truce, you mentioned the possibility of us having triplets," she countered with a dangerous flick of her brow. "Those are unacceptable terms."

"Alright," he returned with an exaggerated sigh. "But if we do ever have triplets, I reserve the right to name them Huey, Dewey and Louie."

"If triplets are even a possibility, I'm driving you to the doctor's office for a vasectomy," she said, worming her hand beneath the laptop and between his legs before he saw it coming. He barked as she tried to squeeze him through his trousers, lifting them both an inch or so off the couch. "Or maybe I'll just take care of things myself," she hummed, withdrawing her hand as she resumed a sitting position. "I told you I could snow your balls, Matthew. Now help me finish planning this wedding before I resort to frostbite."

"Why Mary Gillingham-the things you say." She eyed him sideways before licking her lips suggestively, and he knew he was done for-utterly and completely done for to the point of no return. She had him-in every way possible, and he couldn't be happier about it.

"It's the things I do you should be wary of," she warned, quirking that brow of hers, playfully nipping his finger as he dared to stroke it along her lower lip.

"That's what I'm counting on," he breathed, drawing her in and sealing his mouth on hers before she could think better of it.

* * *

 

Oh, God. This was it.

She stared up at him as each step took her closer, and she clutched Sam's arm tighter than she should, her surroundings almost a blur as her destination took center stage. He looked incredible. And within minutes, he'd be officially her's.

A warm breeze swept under her dress, tickling her legs as she smiled broadly at the man awaiting her arrival. His eyes were bloodshot-he'd been crying, she realized, and she had to swallow hard not to fall into a weepy mess as Sam continued to guide her down the aisle. She tried to memorize every detail, even as moments began to blur into a landscape of vivid colors and pastels she longed to wrap around herself and absorb into her skin. This was her wedding day, and she wanted to hold on to every second of it. Her last marriage had been rushed, a fiasco she'd tried to forget even as it pressed itself into her memory. She'd thought of one man while reciting vows to a stand-in groom, a decision she'd hated herself over for far too long. Marrying Tony had been a mistake.

But today, there were no second thoughts, no regrets, no wishing for someone else. Today, she was fully and utterly happy. Today, she was marrying Matthew.

Faces smiled up at her as she walked towards him-her mother's, her sister's, Isobel's-and finally the two she couldn't get over, both radiant and beaming as they held hands and giggled beside their Daddy. For Matthew was Anna's daddy now in every way that mattered, just as she was Belle's mother. They hadn't yet made it official, but adoption had been discussed and agreed upon by all parties involved just before Matthew and Belle had moved in. They'd celebrated that decision on Valentine's Day, the family gathering giving the holiday a far deeper meaning for her than it had ever held in the past. Even Sam had given them his blessing, although Mary knew that decision was probably more difficult for him than he would ever admit.

"Charles would approve," the older man had told her later that night after the girls had gone to bed. "He'd want Anna to be loved and looked after by a man like Matthew. He'd want her to grow up with a father."

"I believe he would, too," she'd said just before he'd hugged her. She wondered if that dull ache whenever Charles's name was spoken would ever completely fade away. She'd cried herself to sleep that night, and Matthew had let her, simply holding her into his chest and stroking her hair until she'd fallen asleep. He understood the urge to mourn those they'd lost, knew that memories posed no competition to what they shared

. "I cried, too," he'd admitted the following morning while they did their best to share a sink. "Over Lavinia, in my car, in the parking lot at work."

Somehow she hadn't expected this, but his words felt right, like a well-worn glove that hadn't lost its shape even after months of disuse. She'd nodded and had taken his hand as she'd stared at her engagement ring.

"Do you think it's a part of closure?" she'd asked him. "The need to cry again all these months later? Like a final stage of grief or something?"

He'd tugged her closer, drawing her hand to his chest as he'd worked her fingers gently with his own. He'd remained quiet for several seconds, his gaze fixed upon their joined hands until he'd cleared his throat and looked her in the eye to speak. "I think it's a final goodbye."

There had been no question in her mind that he was right. But today was no goodbye. Today was a joyful hello.

She and Sam reached the gazebo, and she looked into the older man's eyes, receiving a wink and a nod of assurance as he transferred her to Matthew and moved to stand beside Isobel. His hand was warm as hers slid into it, and she couldn't help but smile at the dumbstruck look on her groom's face as she finally faced him fully.

"You look amazing," he whispered, the tears in his eyes far too contagious for her liking.

"So do you," she breathed, and he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her skin, nearly making her swoon on the spot. She shivered, feeling a wave of something magical, an almost physical manifestation of one phase of their lives ending as another awaited them all with baited tug on her dress drew her out of her thoughts, and she looked down to see her daughter beaming up at her, curls dismissed in favor of a Cinderella bun that Anna wore with pride.

"You're beautiful, Mommy," she said, and Belle nodded eagerly in agreement, her own hair braided and pinned up in a way that made her look like a pint-sized Elsa. Mary leaned down and touched both of their cheeks, kissing each forehead before straightening herself and looking at him.

"So do you, my sweethearts," she said, grinning as both girls bounced on their feet as if they might take flight. "No princesses have ever looked prettier."

Warmth enfolded her as Matthew's arm encircled her waist, and he leaned in, smelling of Bulgari and sunshine with just a hint of unbridled nerves.

"I love you," he uttered, drawing out a lone tear she couldn't hold back any longer.

"I love you, too," she managed, smiling, laughing, feeling free and light as she spoke her vows. This was it. It was here-the happiness she'd feared lost to her forever the day Charles had died. She'd believed Anna would be the sole love of her life from that point on, had been certain of it for years, had lived in that reality until it was all she knew. Being a mother had been her lifeline during years of silent grief, but she couldn't have imagined then how full her heart would feel now with two little girls standing on either side of her, one dark like her, the other fair and blue-eyed, just like her daddy.

"I will."

Then his arms were around her again, his lips brushing hers with an insistence she returned with gusto. Her arms flew around his neck as the girls squealed and clapped beside them, and she smiled into his cheek as the words _man and wife_ finally meant for her what they were supposed to mean.

"Remind me to send Ms. Laura a thank you card," he whispered, grinning adorably as she drew slowly back just far enough to see his face. "Assigning the two of us to work the Ring Toss Booth together last Fall was one of the best things that's ever happened to me."

She smiled, unable to help herself as she nudged his nose with hers. She felt light, bubbly and wonderful, and she couldn't help but wonder if her daughters had secretly tossed pixie dust on her as she looked up into the eyes of her husband.

"We'll send her a postcard," Mary uttered before clasping on to his lapels and tugging him to her mouth kissing him hard and open-mouthed, the way she'd been wanting to all day.


	22. Epilogue

"It's cold."

Her words silenced his near chuckle, a knee-jerk reaction to the hiss and upwards maneuver that nearly catapulted her from the examination table on to the floor. He drew her hand to his lips instead, tossing her an apologetic look she was debating whether or not to accept.

"Sorry," the nurse-in-training said, biting her lower lip. "I should have warned you."

"It's alright," Mary muttered, allowing Matthew to help her ease back onto the table and get comfortably situated again. Well, as comfortably situated as one could be with a protruding stomach and full bladder.  "Just tell me if you have to put on more."

Just then, the ultrasound technician entered the room, prompting the young nurse to shake her head and step back. The technician glanced over Mary's chart with a nod as she clicked the door shut behind her and gave the Crawleys a welcoming smile.

"How are you feeling, mom?" she questioned as she sat down on the small stool beside the machine on wheels.

"Peachy," Mary answered, willing herself not to elbow her husband as he nearly choked on her reply. Her back was hurting, and she was starving, literally starving, even though she'd already devoured three pancakes and a couple of pieces of bacon less than two hours ago.

"This little one giving you a hard time today?" the technician asked as she picked up the magic wand that would allow them yet another sneak peek of their baby.

"She's stubborn," Mary sighed. "And has taken up residence under my rib cage."

"That's no fun," the technician said as she scooted closer to Mary.

"Perhaps he's stubborn," Matthew interjected as he toyed with his wife's fingers. "And I can't imagine where that personality trait came from."

Mary glared daggers in his direction, relaxing somewhat as the technician began to draw the wand across her stomach in search of said stubborn child.

"So you two still want to know the sex, I take it?"

"Yes," Mary answered, her eyes never leaving the blurry, gray images playing out before her. "Let's just hope he or she isn't quite so modest this time."

The technician chuckled, zeroing in on what was clearly an image of a small head.

"Unfortunately, not all children are cooperative when we want them to be," she remarked, the comment making Mary snort through her nose. "But you two already know that."

"Believe me," Matthew returned. "We live with it on a daily basis."

"So," the technician said. "Any last minute predictions before the moment of truth?" Mary looked to her left and stared directly into the bluer than blue eyes of her husband, the man who had gotten her into this predicament. And God help her, she loved him for it.

"I'll be thrilled either way," Matthew murmured as he guided her fingers to his lips and kissed them, effectively turning her into a mushy puddle of emotions. "But I'm betting on a boy."

"You just want to even the odds," Mary stated, squinting in an effort to both fight back tears and clarify what she was seeing on screen.

"Can you blame me?" he chuckled, and she laughed, shaking her head as she exhaled audibly.

"No," she returned. "But I still think it's another girl. So do Belle and Anna."

"We'd be having twins if those two had their way." The look she shot him silenced any further discussion on that topic, and they sat several seconds in silence, staring at the small screen as if they were watching the world's most fascinating documentary.

"Wait," Mary commanded. ""Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?"

The technician was grinning, and Mary leaned forward as best as she could, her breath catching in her throat as all questions of gender were tossed out the window. She felt Matthew give her hand a small squeeze, and she squeezed back, reveling in this sacred moment they were sharing. Then tears came, they couldn't be helped as she watched her baby in awe and fascination while her husband chuckled beside her.

"God, we're in for it, aren't we?"

She smiled at his words, closing her eyes as his lips brushed her temple and his tears mixed with her own. Suddenly, her backache was irrelevant, as was her irrational craving for a Reese's Cup milkshake at ten a.m, and she felt like she was floating on a wave of euphoria similar to the one she'd ridden on their wedding day. She managed a kiss to his cheek as his arm slid around her back and more photographs of the life they'd created were taken.

"At least we're in for it together."


End file.
